New Wasteland, Same Problems
by John Chandos
Summary: Haunted by anger and guilt, the Lone Wanderer leaves the Capital Wasteland, Westward-bound with one thing on his mind: closure. Elsewhere, the Courier narrowly escapes death in a small graveyard. Together, they will shape the fate of the Mojave Wasteland.
1. Chapter 1

"Damn it all..."

The small fire of the cigarette lighter illuminates the figure's face for a brief moment, just long enough to light the end of the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The wind suddenly kicks up, blowing the dust of the wasteland roundabout him.

"I thought I'd be happy to come back here and see this place again... But nothing's really changed."

The corpses of five raiders lay near the Wanderer's feet, freshly slain. Each had been killed by a bullet to the head. They had assaulted him almost as soon as he had stepped off the boat, and had paid for their arrogance and treachery with their lives.

Indeed, in the past few months, nothing had truly changed in the great Capital Wasteland. Raiders still roamed the lands in great numbers, Super Mutants still controlled the ruins surrounding the Capitol Building, and the Citadel was still a smoldering hole in the ground thanks to the Enclave's ordinance.

"Why did I even come back here? I've got nothing left... Nobody to return to... I should've just set out westward from Point Lookout, instead of hopping back on the boat." Briefly, as he begins the journey deeper into the ruined city, his mind flashes back to Vault 101, more specifically a certain Overseer's daughter. He quickly flattens the thought; she wouldn't want him back. All he had done was assist her, as his former naive self had always done, and what did he get? Amata had exiled him from the Vault, the only home he had ever truly known; thrown him away, like garbage. She had used him for her own selfish ends, and it was something he had never forgiven her for.

The streets of the skeleton of former Washington, D.C. are completely empty, a surprising change. Normally, he would have been up to his neck in Super Mutants or raiders at this point... However, he also knew the many dangers of the Capital Wasteland. Something could jump out at any time.

It was pitch black outside by the time the Wanderer reached the heart of the D.C. ruins: specifically, the Capitol Building and its surrounding areas. As he passes the ruins of the Washington Monument, he comes to a stark, cold realization: he was completely alone. And in more ways than one.

"I've truly got nowhere to turn... No home. No family. No friends. Even Dogmeat is gone... And the Enclave is finished. Guess that means there's only one thing left for me to do." He drops the spent cigarette on the ground, a heavy leather boot covered in dust and dried mud stomping it out. He reaches around behind his back, drawing his hunting rifle, jokingly referred to months ago as "Ol' Painless" by the DJ of Galaxy News, Three Dog...

...Before the same weapon had blown a gaping hole through the man's head without warning. It was a completely unprovoked act of murder... And the Wanderer felt no remorse for it. The radio waves were silent at last, for the most part; with both GNR and the Enclave's radio stations taken down, there wasn't much hope or assistance left for the people of the Capital Wasteland. Not that the Wanderer cared; to him, it meant some form of peace at last, in a sick sense, and that was just fine with him.

"One final victory... For old time's sake. Before I say goodbye to the Capital Wasteland for good, and track down the last piece of the puzzle... The final loose end." As he says this, he glances up at the Capitol Building. It was suicide to charge in alone, likely, but he would kill as many Super Mutants as time allowed him.

Lifelessly, in a manner almost befitting a machine, the Wanderer descends into the huge trenches that have been dug between him and the remains of one of America's most important buildings.

As expected, he comes across two of many Super Mutants, their hulking forms easily noticeable in the darkness. They didn't appear to notice him, instead laughing about the man they had just killed.

Even in the darkness, the Wanderer can make out the unmistakable shape of T-45d Power Armor on the corpse. They had killed a remnant of the Brotherhood of Steel, who was likely trying to find his way back to the remains of the Washington Monument.

Which was, ultimately, pointless; the small garrison there had been taken out by the Wanderer before he had left the Capital Wasteland for Point Lookout.

The first Super Mutant dies quickly as a .32 caliber round punctures the back of its skull neatly. This attracts the attention of the second mutant, though two more rounds splatter his brains all over the walls as well.

The Wanderer emerges from his hiding place in the shadows, eyes completely emotionless as he loots the corpses of the Super Mutants. He snatches up the .32 ammunition one has on its person before continuing on.

He next comes across an unfamiliar sight: a Super Mutant asleep on the job. Were he not obsessed with killing as many of the things as he could, he would have laughed. Not once had he seen a Super Mutant sleep, in all his days of walking the wastes.

As stealthily as a Chinese Crimson Dragoon of the Old World, the wanderer reaches down to his thigh, drawing the knife that is holstered there and sneaking over to the mutant It took just one second, one single swipe of the blade across the jugular vein, and soon blood was pouring out on the ground in rivers from the dead mutant's neck.

"This is almost too easy. Perhaps I should have charged into the nearest Deathclaw nest... That would certainly-" The Wanderer stops himself with a sigh. To allow arrogance would produce complacency, and that was something he couldn't afford. The wastelands had taught him well, he thought, perhaps too well.

Sheathing the combat knife, he marches on through the shadows, continuing this systematic elimination of the giants from the safety of the shadows, until finally he reaches the very end of the trenches. To his dismay, there are no more mutants left.

Indirectly, however, he had assisted the people of the Capital Wasteland once more: the area surrounding the heart of D.C. was now marginally safer to travel through. Discontented, the Wanderer stalks back off in the direction he had come from. It was going to be a long walk back to the remains of Adam's Air Force Base...

"...Hopefully there's something here that hasn't been stolen or picked clean for parts. Scavengers are terrible out in the wastes..." He was referring, of course, to the Vertibirds that had once belonged to the Enclave. The base was surprisingly intact; the mobile crawler had seen better days, he admitted, but that was to be expected.

Surprisingly, he finds a Vertibird positioned outside one of the hangars, still in near-pristine condition. The symbol of the Enclave is prominently displayed on its side, the hulking mass of metal reflecting somewhat in the moonlight. The Wanderer steps inside, taking a seat up front. He begins pressing the buttons, having figured out how to pilot one somewhat by studying the information gathered by the Brotherhood's Scribes. That was one of few things they were good for... Information.

No longer was he going to continue solving other people's issues. The heroic, naive young Vault dweller from Vault 101 had died along with the Enclave and the Brotherhood of Steel. All that remained was the 'Lone Wanderer', a broken shell of the hero the Capital Wasteland had once made him out to be, and one final person to track down. One final kill, and at last the 'Lone Wanderer' would be little more than a legend to the Capital Wasteland.

The blades of the Vertibird begin to turn, and soon the mass of metal and its single passenger is floating through the air, heading West in search of a particular former Colonel...


	2. Chapter 2

_...Pay up!_

_...crying in the rain..._

A particularly loud curse word drags the Courier out of the dark world of unconsciousness. She groans softly, eyes fluttering open. The sudden movement attracts the attention of the men standing nearby, as one of them scoffs loudly.

"Looks like the little bitch is finally waking up." He says. The Courier quickly attempts to drag herself to a sitting position, only to shut her eyes and groan in discomfort as the sudden movement brings on a massive headrush. She makes a move to bring a hand to her forehead to steady herself, only to find that her wrists are bound together tightly with rope.

"W... Where am I? What's going on?" She looks up from her precarious position on the cold, hard ground as the other two men walk over to her. Two of the men are dressed in dirty leather vests and jeans, their appearance clearly marking them as Great Khans. Only Great Khans dressed like Pre-War biker gangs, or at least that was what she had always been told. Truthfully, she had never actually encountered them before, and in her opinion, that was a good thing.

The man in the middle of them, however, appears to be much more... Cultured, than the two men standing beside them. Even in the pale moonlight, his black and white checkered jacket hurt her eyes. His attire made him appear as though he had just walked out of the Pre-War era; his clothes were completely spotless and his hair was stuck in what she guessed was its typical fashion with plenty of hair-gel.

"So you didn't kill her after all, eh? Maybe you Great Khans aren't as bad as I thought." His voice was smooth, the Courier noted. Smooth and slightly accented. His comment, however, seems to enrage the other two men.

"Watch your fucking mouth." The Khan on the right, the one with the mohawk, grinds out through gritted teeth. Calmly, the man in the checkered suit glances over at him.

"And you watch _your _mouth, or you won't see a damn cap for this job." This causes the two Khans to grunt angrily, though they both settle down as the prospect of not getting paid weighs down upon them. The Courier struggles against the ropes binding her hands, but to no avail. The ropes were very thick, and they had been tied expertly.

"What do you want from me? Just tell me and I'll give it to you. Please!" The sheer patheticness of her voice disgusts the Courier, but she was far from the position of being able to do anything about her current situation, so words would have to suffice. The two Khans chuckle at her, while the man in the suit merely rolls his eyes, reaching into his pocket.

"Hey hey, baby, no need for that. I've already gotten what I wanted from you," As he says this, he produces a poker chip from the confines of his pocket, the one the Courier had been meant to deliver. "You recognize this, I'm sure."

The Courier frowns heavily, finally managing to drag herself up to a kneeling position. "Of course I do... It's my month's pay." Now it was Suit's turn to frown as her comment sends the two Khans into a frenzy of raucous laughter.

"Looks like the girl has some fire in her after all!" One says. The other glances over at him. "You just now noticed? Little bitch almost bit my finger off earlier." He holds up his hand, displaying the hastily bandaged finger as proof. They had botched things somewhat in the initial assault, and he had paid for it. The Courier's teeth had been stronger than he'd thought, that much was for sure. Suit holds up a hand, silencing the two Khans once again.

"That's good... I like it when a broad has a little fight in her." He turns his full attention back to the Courier, shoving the chip back into his pocket. "You just made your last delivery, baby. Sorry you had to get twisted up in the seam..." The Courier's eyes widen as he reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out a fancy 9mm pistol.

"Now, I know what you're thinkin', baby. From where you're kneelin', this must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "Truth is... Game was rigged from the start." The Courier's eyes widen even more as she truly begins struggling against her restraints, now desperate to get away. The realization had set in. They were actually going to kill her! Over a _poker chip!_

"...Time to cash out." Suit says with a sickening smirk, leveling the gun with her head and squeezing the trigger.

She heard the first gunshot ring out, before everything finally faded to blackness... For the second time that day.

Slowly, the Courier's eyes flutter open once more. She hisses silently as the sudden light peeking in from the nearby window burns her eyes, bringing up a hand to shield them. Mercifully, the ordeal only lasts for a moment, as her eyes quickly adjust.

"Hey... You're awake. How about that." The words barely register in the Courier's mind, though she still begins to sit up. Strong hands covered by gloves catch her by the wrists, gently pulling her up into a sitting position on the bed she had been laying in. "Easy there now. It's okay. You're safe." The Courier glances up gingerly, finding an older bald man with a moustache sitting in a nearby chair looking back at her.

"I... Where... What..." Hundreds of questions were running through the Courier's mind at that particular moment. The man in the chair gives an understanding nod.

"Take it easy... You've been out cold a couple days now. Relax for a minute. Take deep breaths. Get your bearings." He commands. The Courier gives a small nod, doing as she was told. Sure enough, the deep breathing helped to calm her, somewhat, though her heart was still pounding slightly.

"Let's see what the damage is... Can you tell me your name?" The man asks. The Courier closes her eyes, trying hard to focus. Her name... What _was_ her name? She couldn't remember.

"It's..." She falters for a moment. Why was this so difficult? "...Alessandra. Alessandra Roark." She sighs heavily, content at last.

"Well, it's not what _I_ would have picked for you," The man says, smiling crookedly at his dreadfully unfunny joke. "But if that's your name, that's your name. Is 'Alex' acceptable enough to call you?" At her nod, he continues. "I'm Doc Mitchell... Welcome to Goodsprings." Alex merely stares at him blankly. She had no idea where that was, at that particular moment.

"Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin there to make sure I got all the lead out of your face. I take pride in my needlework, yeah, but maybe you'd better take a look for yourself. Make sure I didn't leave anything out of place." Alex's heart drops into her stomach upon hearing this. She had never arrogantly proclaimed herself to be beautiful or gorgeous, but she _did_ take pride in her appearance. To hear something like that... It worried her.

Mitchell holds out what appears to be a mirror of some sort, which Alex takes from him slowly. She closes her eyes, sucking in a breath and exhaling shakily. She didn't want to look. Nevertheless, she forces herself to open her eyes, staring down at her reflection.

To her immense relief, everything appeared to be in order. Her long, blonde hair which reached her mid-back was still there, though it was incredibly messy. Her face showed no signs of scars, though there was a nasty bruise the size of a baseball on the top-left corner of her forehead, as if she had been cracked in the face by something incredibly hard. Her eyes, though slightly bloodshot, were still their normal color of green, and her skin still maintained its nice, light shade of tan.

"Well? How'd I do?" Mitchell asks. Sighing in relief, Alex hands the mirror back to the doctor. "I guess I'll take that as a yes. I got the stuff that mattered, anyway." He places the mirror on the floor next to his chair, standing up and walking over to the bed.

"No sense keeping you in bed anymore, I guess. Let's see if we can get you on your feet..." He takes Alex by the wrists once more, slowly dragging her to her feet. The Courier is unprepared for the sudden wave of nausea that comes from seemingly out of nowhere, and she would have collapsed once again, had the doctor not been holding her up. She practically falls into him for support, eyes shut tight as her stomach churns sickeningly.

"Feel like you need to throw up?" The doctor asks in that monotone voice of his. Alex takes another deep breath, the stale air of the room settling her stomach... Somewhat.

"N-no. I think I'm okay." She responds. Mitchell slowly lets go of her, allowing the Courier to stand on her own for the first time in two days.

"Good. Now, why don't you try walking down to that vigor tester machine on the other side of the room there? Take it slow, though. Remember, it ain't a race."

There were more tests and questions afterwards, though Alex gave a less-than-stellar performance in all of them, from the vigor tester - though, to her credit, she had gotten a fairly "average" score on that, according to Mitchell - to the doctor's strange charts. She just couldn't remember anything.

"Well," Mitchell began after showing her the final chart, "I reckon you're in good enough condition for me to turn you loose. Any idea as to where you're goin'?" Alex shakes her head slowly.

"No clue... I may just look around Goodsprings a bit before I decide for sure." She replies.

"Fair enough. But wherever you're goin', I doubt you want to head out practically in the nude," Alex blushes furiously at the doctor's remark, averting her eyes to the floor. She was indeed in a state of... Undress, as she was only wearing a skin-tight tanktop that cut off well above her navel and a pair of panties. This was the first time it had come up, however. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Mitchell returns moments later, carrying a pair of black boots and a blue and yellow jumpsuit of some sort, all of which he hands to her. "Here's something for you to wear. It's a Vault jumpsuit. Was my wife's, a long time ago. You're about the same size, I think." Alex quickly dresses herself in the jumpsuit, glad to have something to wear. It was slightly drafty in the doctor's office. Mitchell also holds out a strange electronic device, as well as a 9mm pistol, which is in sub-par condition.

"Just so you can defend yourself. And this might come in handy. It's called a Pip-Boy. I don't got any use for it anymore, but you might want such a thing. Also, I found some papers when the robot brought you in. I thought it might help me find a next of kin, but the only thing it said was something about a Platinum Chip."

As the words 'Platinum Chip' are mentioned, the memories of the previous night come rushing back. Alex places a hand to her forehead, eyes shut tightly. "I remember now... I was a courier. That guy in the checkered suit and a couple of Great Khans ambushed me. They took the chip and shot me." She says. The doctor raises an eyebrow. Perhaps she was luckier than he had thought. Most people who crossed the Great Khans didn't live to tell the tale.

"Well, come on. Let's get you out of here." Mitchell says, motioning for Alex to follow him. He leads the Courier to the front door.

"Thanks for patching me up, doc." Alex says gratefully. Mitchell merely shrugs her off.

"Don't mention it. It's my job, after all. Oh, and one more thing. You should probably go speak with Sunny Smiles before long. She'll teach you how to survive out there in the desert." Alex nods her head, silently thanking the doctor once again. Slowly, she pulls open the door and steps outside into the blinding light of the early morning sun, ready to take on the Mojave Wasteland once again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note:**_

**kitsune-demon16: (Rant time) Nothing annoys me more than a hero with perfect morality. What you remarked upon is the main force that drove me away from much of the different types of fiction around this site (Most notably the Mass Effect section). In a world like Fallout, the idea of a single hero going around touching hearts, saving lives, and basically becoming the Wasteland's personal servant just doesn't sound plausible, nor appealing, to me. Flawed characters seem far more "real" and just generally human to me; paragons of justice roaming a dead land looking for the next kitten to save from a tree just end up making me think the protagonist is some sort of machine programmed to think and act a certain way regardless of the situation. Anyway, rant time over. I'm glad you enjoy it, and I hope you will continue to read in the future.**

**DesertStar87: They will be meeting eventually, I'm just not entirely sure when. It could be in the next couple of chapters, or it could be ten or so down the road. Only time will truly tell, I suppose.**

**Everyone else: I know these chapters so far have been Courier-centric, but the Lone Wanderer will be making another appearance soon, this I promise. I also check the review box frequently, so feel free to ask questions or feed your author a cookie. *wink* Reviews aren't exactly necessary, I suppose, but it's good to know that someone out there will take the time to critique the story/comment on things. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story.**

* * *

"Today was such a fun day, don'tcha think?"

Alex groans tiredly in response, dragging her feet as the company of three - two women and a dog, Cheyenne - make their way back up the hill toward Goodsprings.

The "afternoon training session" with Sunny had been exhausting, to say the least. They had both learned that Alex was far from a "crack-shot" with a rifle, as was evidenced by her wasting an entire clip of ammo just to shoot one Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle off of the fence behind the saloon. She had gotten the hang of it somewhat around the fourth bottle, but it was obvious that she would need a lot of practice before she could shoot as well as Sunny.

Sunny had insisted that Alex come along with her to clear the geckos out of the areas surrounding the water supply, which Alex had done. Geckos, she had learned, were fast little buggers; she had almost gotten bitten once or twice in the ensuing battle. The ordeal hadn't been for nothing, however; they had managed to save one of the settlers from a fate others occasionally succumbed to in Goodsprings: death via gecko mauling.

Lastly, Sunny had taught Alex how to make "Healing Powder" from Xander Roots and Broc Flowers. It was apparently an old herbal remedy used extensively by the tribes further West in California. That little bit of information would likely come in handy later on. Alex's brief "encounter" with Checkered Suit and the two goons had made the dangers of the wasteland real to her. She would likely get hurt out there. A lot.

"So, Sunny... Is there anything else around town that I can do? I might be leaving soon, and I could use the extra caps." Alex asks, wiping a few beads of sweat off of her forehead. God's blood, it was hot outside. And the leather Vault jumpsuit certainly wasn't helping her cool down any.

"Hmm. Nothing I can think of - wait... There's this trader who stumbled into town about a week or so ago we got holed up in the gas station. Name's Ringo. The Powder Gangers have been lookin' for him recently, and they're... Not exactly happy campers." Sunny frowns heavily upon mentioning them. Alex raises an eyebrow.

"Powder Gangers? Never heard of them." She remarks, hoping that Sunny will enlighten her.

"Chain gangs, or at least they used to be. The boneheads back West in the New California Republic brought them out here to lay the railroads. Apparently they didn't stop to think of what might happen when you give a bunch of convicts all the dynamite they could ever want... But anyway, that's the deal. If you go to speak to Ringo, tell him I'll throw in with him if the Powder Gangers try anything funny." Sunny replies. Alex kicks a small pebble in her path absentmindedly.

"Just how many of these guys are there?" She asks.

"Heck of a lot more than just me, you, and Ringo can handle. If we're gonna take 'em on, we're gonna need help. You might want to try talking to Trudy, up in the saloon. She's basically our leader. If you got her on our side, I'm pretty sure some of the townspeople would help out. Chet just got a shipment of leather armor, but he's a cheap bastard, so don't expect too much out of him. Easy Pete's got some dynamite we can use, and we could always get some use out of a stimpack or two, so you should check in with Doc Mitchell too."

It had taken some time, but Alex had convinced just about everyone to assist against the Powder Gangers. Trudy had promised to have a few words with some of the settlers, and Chet had agreed to supply the militia with armor and weapons, reluctantly, and had also given Alex a suit to wear as well, which she gladly put on. Doc Mitchell had been the easiest to convince; all Alex had done was mention the Powder Gangers and he had sent her off with plenty of stimpacks and a few syringes of Med-X. Easy Pete was the exception, however; he had refused to give up the dynamite, though that was okay in Alex's point of view. She had little knowledge of explosives and didn't want to run the risk of blowing away an innocent bystander.

Having taken care of the preparations, there was only two things left for Alex to do: go talk to Ringo, and wait for the Powder Gangers to finally make their move. She decided to do both, starting with the former. Slowly, she walks the path up to the gas station, gazing at the Sunset Sarsaparilla vending machine longingly. Perhaps she would grab one after her banter with the trader was finished.

Ringo was much younger than Alex had previously expected; he couldn't have been any older than 25 or so. He was dressed rather typically of a westerner, complete with a bandana tied around his neck. He also pulled a gun on her as she entered the building.

"That's close enough. Who are you?" Alex immediately holds her hands up to show that she meant no harm, unconsciously taking a step back toward the door. She wasn't going to attack him, but that didn't mean she was just going to stand out in the open and let him take potshots at her either.

"Easy... You're Ringo, right?" She asks.

"That depends. Who wants to know?"

"I'm Alessandra Roark. Alex. Sunny Smiles and I are going to help you with your Powder Ganger problem." Alex responds. Obviously surprised by her words, Ringo quickly lowers his weapon, shoving it back into its holster.

"Oh... I had no idea. Sorry about the rude welcome, with the gun and all. I've been pretty tense lately." Alex smiles wryly at his words.

"So would I be, if I had a gang of murderous psychopaths after me... Anyway, mind telling me exactly what you did to get these guys' attention?" Before Ringo is able to respond, the door bursts open, revealing Sunny Smiles with Cheyenne in tow.

"Time to look alive! The Powder Gangers are here!" Ah, the words Alex had both been waiting for and dreading at the same time...

"Are Trudy and the others ready?" Alex asks. Sunny gives a short nod.

"Yeah, they're getting set up in cover outside the store, but things still might end badly if we don't get down there." Alex drops the conversation at that point, following Sunny back out the door with Ringo close behind. They arrive to find three townsfolk standing outside the store in leather armor, along with Trudy. Two more were perched atop the store on its roof, holding weapons of their own.

They had arrived just in time, apparently, as Joe Cobb could be seen off in the distance along with five other Powder Gangers, slowly advancing on the town. Alex glances around for a suitable defensive position, before finally crouching down behind a pile of Sunset Sarsaparilla crates, Varmint Rifle in hand. She uses the smaller stack of boxes to prop the rifle up on, aiming down the sights and breathing heavily. Slowly, she lines them up with the head of a Powder Ganger...

And hesitates.

Could she do it? Could she really squeeze the trigger and end that man's life? She had shot the occasional gecko or coyote on a delivery once or twice, sure, but Alex had never fired a gun at another person before, not once in all of her 19 years of life... Nor had she even used it to threaten someone else into submission.

On the other hand, these were Powder Gangers, evil men who had nothing better to do than cause trouble and rob people. They likely deserved to die as a punishment for the crimes each of them had no doubt committed.

With these thoughts in mind, Alex aims down the sights once more, exhaling slowly as her finger squeezes the trigger of the rifle. The single round flies true, punching through the skull of a Powder Ganger wearing a cowboy hat. The hat flies off of his head as he falls, dead before he even hit the ground. Alex stares blankly at the small battlefield, day-dreaming slightly. She had just killed somebody.

The rest of the Powder Gangers charge the hastily erected defenses, though they are quickly gunned down by the rest of the militia. Alex watches the display of violence silently, unable to even think. The battle had been won, without casualties to the Goodsprings settlers.

"Alex, you okay? You froze up on us." Alex glances down at the ground as Sunny and Cheyenne come over. She nods slowly.

"Yeah... I just..." Alex trails off, glancing out in the direction of the Powder Ganger she had killed. Sunny must have understood, because she felt the smaller woman's hand touch her shoulder gently.

"I see. Look, we've all been through a lot today. Why don't you stay at my place for the rest of the night? You can go do whatever it is you're going to do in the morning." Sunny offers. Alex nods, giving her a small smile.

"Yeah... I'd like that."


	4. Chapter 4

"Stupid piece of Enclave junk!" A loud, metallic bang echoes through the silent desert, followed immediately by a grunt of pain.

The Lone Wanderer grips the front of his boot, angrily rubbing at his injured toes. The Vertibird's nuclear fusion reactor had gone haywire moments before, sending him crashing to the ground. Thankfully, the Wanderer had found out how to eject from the hulk of metal, and was forced to watch from his parachute above as the Vertibird slammed into the ground, the rotors breaking off from the impact as it literally fell to pieces. He had shown his gratitude to the machine by kicking it in that "special spot", but had done little more than hurt his foot. That fact almost irritated him more than the situation itself did.

Fed up with his current situation, the Wanderer begins walking away from the crash site, lighting another cigarette along the way. He smirks slightly upon inhaling the sweet yet subtly deadly smoke. Army Club cigarettes... It was the only thing he could ever actually thank the Enclave for, having gained the taste for them after he had found a few cartons off of the corpses of some of the officers. He hadn't stopped, and had since then become something of a chain-smoker.

The desert was extremely quiet, he noted. Far different from the warzone that was the Capital Wasteland. Were this the ruins of the District of Columbia, he was certain he would have run across at least one decent-sized Raider party by that point... Or a pair of Super Mutants.

After a solid half-hour of walking West, the Wanderer finally comes across a small town. He approaches the entrance and stops in front of the guard, a man wearing a brown uniform of some sort. An assault rifle was clutched in his hands, though the Wanderer didn't recognize the make of it.

"Got a problem, sir?" The man asks. The Wanderer gestures toward the settlement.

"I'm looking for information... What's the name of this place?" He asks.

"This is Nelson, a small settlement overlooking the Colorado River. A few people live here, but it's mostly just an NCR garrison." The soldier replies. The Wanderer glances down at the man's combat armor. A two-headed bear with the letters 'NCR' are printed on the front.

"NCR, huh. Never heard of you." The soldier looks at him as though he has grown a second head.

"You been living under a damn rock somewhere, buddy? We're the New California Republic. And you'd best remember that. We control just about everything but the Strip around here." The Wanderer rolls his eyes in a show of deliberate disrespect for the soldier in front of him, crossing his arms.

"I hope the rest of the soldiers inside aren't as arrogant as you... Point me to the bar." Slightly irritated by the Wanderer's comment, the trooper jerks his head in the direction of the building.

The bar turns out to be inside one of the barracks for the NCR soldiers. The Wanderer seats himself on the stool, lighting a cigarette as the bartender comes over.

"Whoa, buddy. You look like you've come a long way." He says. The Wanderer nods, leaning against the bar. He didn't know the half of it... Which was a good thing. "What's your name?"

"Justin Shepard," The Wanderer responds coolly, "Glass of whiskey." The bartender nods, going back to fetch the drink.

"So, what brings you out here to the Mojave Wasteland?" The bartender asks, sliding the glass down the counter to Justin. So _that_ was where he was; the Mojave Wasteland. Justin grabs the glass, downing half of the burning liquid in a few gulps.

"I'm looking for someone. A man by the name of Augustus Autumn." The bartender picks up an empty glass, wiping it down with a rag.

"Sorry, pal. Can't say I've ever heard that name before." Justin nods, taking another drag off of the cigarette.

"Wouldn't expect you to. He's not exactly popular... An old _acquaintance_ of mine, if you will," Justin's face sours upon hearing his own words. He made it sound as if they were business partners or friends, something he wishes he hadn't done, as it instantly makes him sick to his stomach.

"Hmm. Well, a good place to start lookin' would definitely be New Vegas. Everyone that comes to the Mojave Wasteland passes through Vegas at some point. Unless you're with the Legion." This remark gets Justin's attention, but he says nothing. Best not to alienate himself from the locals any more than he already had. With this in mind, he downs the rest of the whiskey, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray in front of him.

"You got a place to stay for the night? I'll leave at dawn, first thing tomorrow." Justin asks.

"Yeah, I've got a few spare beds. You got caps?"

As Justin is reaching into his duster's inside pocket to extract his bag of Nuka-Cola caps, shouting along with the sound of gunfire outside draws his attention to the door. The two NCR soldiers in the room immediately leap up from their beds and grab their weapons.

"What's going on?" Justin asks. The bartender reaches behind the counter, extracting a tire iron.

"I don't know, but it can't be good, whatever it is."

At that moment the entrance to the barracks exploded open. Three men wearing red armor and wielding what look like to be machetes come charging in, easily hacking the two unarmored NCR soldiers to pieces. The one in the middle, one wearing an Indian headdress of some sort, catches sight of Justin. He immediately charges forward, machete held high.

"DIE, PROFLIGATE!"

A .32 Hunting Rifle barks loudly, and the man wearing red armor crumples to the floor, bleeding profusely from a bullet hole neatly punched between his eyes. Whatever it was he was wearing on his head, it didn't stop bullets. Justin calmly chambers the next round as he faces the remaining two men, even stopping to fix a jam in the bolt.

"...Who's next?"

One of the men wearing red armor immediately sheaths his machete, reaching for a rifle of his own. He is the first to die, as Justin squeezes the trigger again, sending a well-placed shot tearing through the man's throat. He crumples to the floor, vainly attempting to stop the bleeding as it pours from his body in rivers. The third meets a similar fate as the first, a bullet ripping through his head and actually severing it from the rest of his body.

"Holy... It's the Legion!" Justin ignores the bartender's rising panic, kneeling down next to the first legionary he killed. The armor he was wearing was surprisingly well-made, considering what it was made of: American football gear supplemented by reinforced metal plates, a red tunic, combat boots... He had to admit, they had copied the look of the ancient Roman legionaries pretty well. Justin snatches the black bandana off of the legionary's face, pocketing it. The dust in the Mojave was much worse than it was in the Capital Wasteland, so it would likely come in handy.

"You gotta help us out, man. If the NCR doesn't hold this position, we're as good as dead." The bartender says. Justin smirks, standing back up. At last, the moment he had been waiting for: a random person to start asking him to perform some task for them.

"It's not my problem." His cold response, stuns the bartender for a moment.

"You... You can't be-"

"Serious?" Justin finishes for him. He chuckles a bit at the expression on the man's face before his own facial features darken. "Oh, I can be very serious. I'm here for Augustus Autumn. Nothing more, nothing less. The rest of you can rot in hell, just like he will when I find him." And with that, the Lone Wanderer exits through the now-broken door, stepping into the chaos outside. Why these would-be Romans wanted Nelson was beyond him, but then he didn't really care. He just wanted to get out before more people attempted to kill him.

The chaos between the fighting NCR and Legion outside, combined with the shadows cast over the camp by the buildings in the night sky, made for excellent sneaking conditions. And that was something Justin excelled at. Effortlessly, he blends in with the shadows, sneaking back toward the entrance he had come from previously. It was amusing, he noted. Just an hour or so into a new area and he was already killing people. Indeed, the taste for violence amongst Wastelanders was truly universal. It transcended all: gender, racial boundaries, mental states; nothing got in its way or hindered it at all.

As he reaches the end of the road, he is caught by three more legionaries. One is much more extravagantly dressed, wearing armor similar to the first one Justin killed in the bar, complete with feathered headdress. Not waiting for them to make the first move, Justin blasts one of the legionaries in the chest, taking him down instantly. The one in the middle immediately raises a throwing spear of some sort and chucks it in his direction, forcing Justin to roll out of the way and reveal himself.

"So... This is the Profligate my men have told me of. Interesting." He remarks, sizing Justin up. Justin scowls at him.

"I wish you people would stop calling me that. It's not my name." He shoulders his rifle, waiting for the legionary to speak again.

"I call you profligate because that is what you are. Had I known you would cause us trouble, I would have ordered my men to take you down the moment that flying machine of yours crashed in the desert." Justin raises an eyebrow at that. These freaks had been tailing him ever since he had arrived?

"Trouble? I don't even know who you are. Your brainless soldiers assaulted me in the barracks. I've done nothing but defend myself."

"I am called Dead Sea, the greatest of Caesar's Decani. You will have the rare honor of facing me in battle, Profligate." With that, Dead Sea walks over to the fallen legionary next to him, taking his machete and tossing it at the Lone Wanderer, the blade landing right in front of him. Justin groans in disbelief, rolling his eyes. Was this guy for real?

"You honestly expect me to pick up this thing and fight you? I'd rather just shoot you in the head like I've done to about four of your followers and call it done." Nevertheless, Justin decides to humor the Decanus, shouldering Ol' Painless and picking up the machete, taking a fighting stance.

"May Mars favor the victor. Prepare yourself!" Dead Sea yells, charging him. Justin manages to parry the first swipe, but is completely unprepared for the follow-up kick. A dinosaur-sized boot plants itself in his chest, causing him to stumble back several inches. He manages to recover just in time to duck beneath a swing that nearly takes off his head.

Justin quickly falls to the ground, leg-sweeping his opponent. The move catches Dead Sea off-guard, sending the Decanus falling to the ground. He immediately stands back up, attempting to curb stomp his opponent to death. After two solid stomps to the head, however, Dead Sea catches him by the foot, giving it a twist. The Lone Wanderer falls into the dust, rolling away as Dead Sea gets to his feet. Justin nurses his twinged ankle with his right hand, glancing up at the Decanus. _What the hell? This guy is strong!_

"I must admit, I'm impressed. You've survived far longer than many others. Liberator should have claimed your life by now." Dead Sea remarks, gesturing to his machete. Justin gets to his feet, favoring his left leg slightly.

"So pleased to have your approval..." Justin spits in Dead Sea's direction as he says this.

"Your glibness does you no credit, Profligate. Time to die!" Justin braces himself, preparing to avoid another swing. This time, however, Dead Sea tackles him to the ground, murderous intent in his eyes. Justin tenses up as the Decanus sheaths his machete and wraps his large hands around his throat, attempting to strangle the life out of him. Letting go of the offending hands for a second, Justin throws a heavy punch, which slams directly into Dead Sea's face. A sick, wet, crunching sound reaches his ears; the punch had broken Dead Sea's nose.

Despite this, the Decanus continues to fight him. Justin feels his vision beginning to go dark, having been deprived of air for some time now. The smoker's curse was affecting him, it seemed. He was no longer able to hold his breath as long as he used to.

Frantically, Justin punches again, his hand smacking against Dead Sea's headgear. The blow stuns the Decanus for a moment, just long enough for Justin to turn the tide and roll them over. Now on top, Justin proceeds to begin punching away at Dead Sea's head, each strike carrying as much force as the Lone Wanderer can possibly put behind it.

Fatigue begins to wear at him soon, however. After one final, glancing blow, Dead Sea catches Justin's arm, throwing a punch of his own. He clocks the Lone Wanderer directly in the chin before grabbing him by the throat and tossing him aside. Quickly getting to his feet, Dead Sea exhibits a remarkable amount of strength, lifting the taller Justin up in a chokehold with his left hand, punching the Lone Wanderer in the stomach with his right the entire time.

After a few solid blows, Justin reaches into his pocket with his free hand, extracting his cigarette lighter. He quickly flicks the lighter before bringing the flame around to Dead Sea's face. The fire easily ignites the feathers on Dead Sea's helmet, and in short order his entire head is on fire. The Decanus begins screaming in pain, releasing his hold on Justin as he vainly attempts to put the fire out.

"This ends now!" Justin snarls, lunging forward. He snatches Dead Sea's machete from his belt, grasping him by the left shoulder and whirling the Decanus around, preparing to deliver the final strike. Justin swings the machete only once, cutting deep into Dead Sea's throat. Blood immediately gushes forth from the laceration, splattering all over Justin's clothes. The Decanus falls to his knees before slamming into the dust face-first, his head still on fire as a small puddle of blood begins to form around him.

Not batting an eyelash, Justin reaches into his coat, pulling out the last cigarette from the pack he was currently smoking. Morbidly, he uses the still-burning Decanus' head to light it, before turning to walk out of the settlement. The guard from Dead Sea's entourage stands rooted to the spot, staring lifelessly at the dead Decanus. As Justin approaches, however, he draws his machete and charges.

"RETRIBUTION!"

That was the last thing he said, before Liberator took his life, as well.

Finally away from the settlement, the Lone Wanderer stops on a nearby hillside overlooking Nelson, watching as the last of the NCR are crushed by the Legion. Some of the troopers were forced to jump from the cliffs to their deaths in the river below, the ones that remained were crucified on what appeared to be makeshift crosses made from telephone poles. Justin watches all of this with a blank expression on his face before finally deciding it was time to move on. He injects himself with a syringe of Med-X before turning to the West, deciding to continue on.

The Legion... The NCR... The Lone Wanderer had no time for either of them. They could have their petty war. Whoever ruled humanity was of little interest to him, so long as it wasn't the Enclave or the Brotherhood of Steel. The death of a former Enclave commander was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note**_

**shadowjohn_101: Haha. Yeah, Justin really underestimated the strength of Caesar's Legion back there, didn't he? He blew through several legionaries with ease, so I didn't want him to get too comfortable... At least not without a "proper greeting", of sorts. Also, I've yet to see Dead Sea used in any fic around here. Am I just missing something, or is he really that insignificant?**

**Brad: Yes, the Lone Wanderer in this story is a far-cry from the perfect hero that the Mojave needs, but he's not the Scourge of Humanity hell-bent on destroying the world either. I'm attempting to find a happy medium between the two extremes. He helps people occasionally because he has the power/skill to do so and need for caps or some other ulterior motive, not because he wants a damsel in distress to blush and smile at him coyly as he wipes out a compound of thirty Raiders to save her from a gruesome fate.**

**Kagirinai Hana: Sorry for putting you off a bit, but I'm glad you decided to change your mind and come over to the dark side. We have cookies, after all... Heh heh.**

**Other stuff: Since I've gotten several reviews concerning character personalities, I decided it might be best to summarize a bit, that way the mentality of both characters can be laid out a bit plainer. I planned to have this be MLW x FCourier in the future (surprise, surprise, my secret is revealed), and as such I wanted their personalities to clash as much as possible. As it stands now, Alex is a sweet, easy-going individual who hates violence, would never dream of doing chems/murdering someone/sleeping with just anybody (Sorry about that, FCourier/Benny fans, but she doesn't possess the Black Widow perk. lol), and would much rather talk her way out of dangerous situations. **

**Justin, on the other hand, is a cynical, sarcastic, violent individual who'd beat an old lady to death if it meant getting closer to finding his target, has a serious addiction to nicotine, and would rather just shoot you instead of trading pleasantries. The Capital Wasteland affected him very, very negatively, but there's still a shred of humanity left beneath all the rough edges. If all goes according to plan, the two will make a good foil for each other.**

**Also, I apologize for the late updates. I haven't been feeling too well as of late. **

**Now on with the next chapter!**

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* * *

**The Courier awakens with a yawn, grinning broadly as she sees the streams of sunlight peeking in through the boarded up window over her head. She tosses the bed sheets aside, placing her bare feet on the surprisingly cold floor and standing up. _Another lovely day in the wasteland..._

Alex dresses herself in her leathers as quickly as she can, though it takes a good ten minutes for her to do so as she still hadn't quite gotten the hang of how each piece snapped together. After the grueling task is complete, she pushes open the bedroom door, stepping out into the living room. Sunny Smiles is sitting on the rather dirty couch nearby. She smiles warmly at the Courier, which Alex returns.

"Well now, you look much better." Sunny remarks, standing up. Alex nods, her smile disappearing as she turns her gaze to the floor.

"Yeah. I finally came to terms with... Well, you know. I guess it's still hard. I've never actually shot anyone before," Alex chuckles a bit, suddenly remembering something. "You know, the other couriers I worked with used to call me a 'New Vegas virgin'. I guess I never really found out how fitting that nickname really was until the other day." Sunny chuckles a bit as well, grabbing her Varmint Rifle off of the couch.

"Come on, why don't we go get some breakfast? My treat. It's the least I can do before I send you on your way." She offers. Alex's stomach decides to find her way into the conversation at this point, growling loudly. Alex blushes as Sunny laughs at her, patting her flat stomach in an effort to get it to quiet down. However, the thought of something decent to eat was nice. She hadn't had much of an appetite after the events of the previous day.

"Well, one part of me agrees, apparently. Let's go!"

Breakfast at the Prospector Saloon consisted of whatever Alex could get her leather-clad hands on. Sunny merely watches in amusement as the Courier hungrily devours the food in front of her, vaguely wondering how the slender blonde woman next to her managed to keep said slender physique, if the eating habits she was currently displaying were normal for her.

After the goodbyes were said, Alex was on the road once again, heading south. Her courier orders had said something about the small town of Primm, and, more importantly, she had learned from Trudy that the men who had shot her had headed south as well, wanting to avoid I-15 and the various critters that infested it; from geckos to the dreaded cazadores.

Alex toys with her Pip-Boy absentmindedly, cycling through the various features it had. It had a GPS system for both a map of the entire Mojave as well as a local map, which would come in handy if she was to be traveling the wastes, as well as a geiger counter to keep track of radiation in the area. It could also play holotapes, and even had a section for her to keep a diary, if desired. Alex skipped over that function, she had never kept one and wasn't about to start now... Even though a diary would likely help her remember her past life a bit better.

She reached the outskirts of Primm later on without serious trouble, aside from the occasional stray gecko or radroach. As she neared the entrance, however, she was stopped by an NCR trooper.

"Hold on there, miss. This place is a warzone. I'm going to have to ask you to turn around." He says in a rather typical monotonous voice befitting a soldier. Alex frowns, she hadn't expected to run into the New California Republic, At least, not at that particular moment.

"A warzone? What's going on?" The soldier points at the other side of town, across the small overpass of the ruined road.

"The convicts from up north happened, that's what. There was a riot in the NCRCF recently, and a bunch of them escaped. Some of them came down here, and took over Primm." Alex glances around the man, seeing two brown-clad NCR soldiers standing up at the overpass behind a makeshift barricade. Both of them were busy guzzling down Sunset Sarsaparilla and talking idly. Her frown grows a bit heavier.

"And you're just standing around doing nothing? There could be people in there that need help!" She exclaims. The soldier sighs exasperatedly, sounding as if he'd explained this several times before.

"I, for one, would love to help the town. But it doesn't fall under NCR jurisdiction. Our orders are to wait for reinforcements from the Mojave Outpost further to the south. Until that happens, we aren't going anywhere. You want to complain, go see Lieutenant Hayes. Just stick to the west side of the area, unless you want to get shot." Realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with the soldier, Alex merely storms off in a huff, in the direction of the lieutenant's tent.

Lieutenant Hayes was a courteous enough, though typically militaristic individual. Sadly, Alex was unable to get very far with him as well, as he had basically told her that the hostages the convicts had taken were likely holed up in one of the casinos, and the conversation had eventually ended with her stomping out of the tent in frustration. She leans against the small barricade outside, sighing heavily. The NCR in Primm were both lazy and uncaring. They were trained soldiers set up against a few convicts. Why couldn't they just make a sweep of the area and be done with it? It's not like the convicts would stand much of a chance against them.

Alex shakes her head, walking away from the tents. Everything had to be so difficult, didn't it? From the Platinum Chip to the Powder Gangers to Primm's issues with the convicts. NCR be damned, she needed to know more about the Platinum Chip and the men who had shot her. Varmint Rifle in hand, she walks across the small overpass, into the convict-controlled area of the town. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to use it... Much.

That notion changed the moment she saw a convict off in the distance, armed with a 10mm submachine gun and wearing makeshift armor. Alex ducks behind the burnt-out husk of a Pre-War vehicle, propping her rifle up against it to ensure better accuracy. She seriously doubted that the men would talk it over with her, and any attempt to do so would likely just result in her getting killed... Or worse, captured.

Taking careful aim at the convict's head, Alex exhales slowly, willing her finger to squeeze the trigger. The sound of a rifle cracking echoes through the area, and the convict drops to the ground instantly. Alex cringes, she had just killed yet another person for little to no reason. Doing her best not to dwell on the subject, she sneaks further into the area, around what appeared to be a parking lot of sorts. She quickly ducks behind yet another husk of a car as another convict runs around the corner, gun raised. Alex watches as he checks the body of his comrade, suddenly coming to a startling revelation: this was likely the stupidest thing she had ever done.

The second convict falls in a fashion similar to his friend as a lucky shot takes him in the throat. He crumples to the ground, convulsing as blood spurts from his wound before finally going silent. Alex emerges from her hiding place, walking around the side of the building. Her stomach immediately begins turning flips as she accidentally glances back at the bloody corpse of the second convict she killed. Feeling her stomach lurch sickeningly, Alex tears her eyes away, squeezing them shut and breathing deeply, every fiber of her being attempting to keep her from vomiting. She manages to calm herself after a moment and continues on, this time not making the mistake of looking back.

Alex glances out from around the corner of the building cautiously, finding that the area around the Vikki and Vance Casino is, thankfully, convict free. As was her current luck, however, as soon as she stepped out, a convict appeared from one of the nearby alleyways, smoking a cigarette. Alex froze, her mind momentarily going blank. The convict, however, was not so unfortunate, as he quickly raised a 10mm pistol and began firing away. One of the bullets whizzed right past Alex's head, grazing her left cheek. The stinging sensation was enough to get her mind into gear, as she quickly throws her body back behind the building, a small, squeaking sound escaping her throat as five more bullets slammed into the concrete.

Alex quickly drags herself to her feet, glancing around frantically to make sure no more convicts were sneaking up on her before hiding herself behind the nearby dumpster, rifle aimed at the side of the building. There was no way she was getting herself into a firefight with the man, but maybe...

Sure enough, the convict comes running around the corner of the building. Alex squeezes the trigger, aiming for his throat. Instead, the bullet goes wide, nailing the convict in the right bicep. He screams in pain, dropping his gun as he presses his left arm to attempt to stop the bleeding, nearly falling over in the process. Alex quickly loads the next round into the bolt-action rifle, peeking out and squeezing the trigger once more. This round slams into the convict's knee, and this time he hits the ground. Alex decides to leave him where he fell; the NCR could deal with him if they ever decided to move, or he could bleed out.

The inside of the casino had very dim lighting, this much was easily noticed. Upon entering, Alex was immediately greeted by a much older man holding a .357 magnum.

"You picked an interesting time to drop in, youngster. We heard the shootin' outside and thought the NCR might've finally been comin' to get us," He glances her up and down quickly before continuing. "But ya don't look much like a trooper, unless you're a mercenary or somethin'." Alex shakes her head.

"No, I'm not affiliated with the NCR. I'm - well, I _was_ a courier with the Mojave Express." The old man raises an eyebrow at that.

"A courier, eh? Well, you're in luck. I happen to manage the Mojave Express here in Primm. Johnson Nash is my name." Alex beams visibly, digging into her pack. If anyone knew anything, it would have to be him. She quickly extracts her papers concerning the Platinum Chip and hands them to him.

"Do you happen to know anything about this? It's really important." Johnson takes the papers from her hand, looking them over quickly.

"Ah yeah, that damned poker chip. We don't typically accept these kind of jobs, but we couldn't turn down the caps for it. Looks like you were supposed to deliver it to New Vegas from here." Alex nods.

"Yeah, but some men captured me on the way. They shot me and took the chip. One was wearing a checkered suit, and the other two were Great Khans. Do you know anything about them, or where they were going?" Johnson shakes his head, handing the papers back to Alex.

"Nah, but ya might want to ask Deputy Beagle. Him and the sheriff keep up with travelers around here... Well, they used to." Alex frowns slightly, her elation from finding the manager having already drained.

"What happened?"

"The convicts killed our sheriff, and took his deputy hostage. They're across the way here, in the hotel. If they ain't already killed him too, that is." Alex's frown grows a bit heavier. She didn't like where this was going.

"Just sayin', he's probably the only one that can tell you anything. If you can get him back in one piece, that is." Alex sighs heavily, shoulders slumping in defeat. That... That was just great. It meant more killing and getting shot at. _Why do things just keep getting worse for me?_

Turning about, Alex places her hand on the doorknob, glancing back at the trapped civilians in the safety of their casino before numbly walking back out into the heat-filled air of the town. She sneaks across the parking lot, managing to reach the entrance of the hotel without incident.

Two convicts are sitting in a pair of chairs at the opposite end of the hallway as soon as she walks in. They notice her rather quickly, as they both stand up, shouting some obscure obscenity as they both draw their weapons. One had a 9mm pistol, while the other was brandishing a meat cleaver of some sort. Alex quickly backpedals out through the doors as the one with the gun opens up, the bullets slamming harmlessly into the wood.

Alex shoulders her rifle, reaching for the 9mm pistol attached to her belt. She would need something that fired a bit quicker than the flimsy bolt-action Varmint Rifle she had. No sooner than she grabs the handle, something large slams into the doors she had been propped up against, the force of it knocking her back an inch or two. The convict wielding the cleaver bursts through the doors, swinging it maniacally as he attempts to cut her to pieces.

Alex barely manages to avoid the first slice, which takes off a few strands of her hair. A gloved fist slams into her face, knocking her to the ground. Her gun leaves her hand, bouncing just out of her reach. Typical. Alex makes a frantic crawl for it, only to be stopped as a hand catches her boot-clad ankle.

"And just where do you think you're goin', ya little bitch?" The convict behind her sneers, dragging her away from the gun. Alex manages to twist her body around, so that she was now laying on her back, continuing to try to wriggle free of his grasp. "Say, you're kinda pretty... I wonder if the boss wants a little plaything?" Alex's blood chills at that point.

"No! Get away from me!" She kicks at the convict with her free leg blindly, her boot-clad foot coming into contact with the convict's groin. His face immediately twists up in pain, his hands letting go of her foot as he crumples to the ground. Now free, Alex immediately gets to her feet and runs to her dropped weapon, snatching it up. At that point, the convict with the gun emerges from the hotel, though he is taken down as Alex fires at him, two of the five rounds slamming into his chest. She then turns back to the previously downed convict, who is now staggering to his feet, cleaver still gripped tightly in his left hand. She took careful aim, firing a single shot, which hits him in the head, directly between the eyes. Alex glances away as he falls, heading back to the hotel. _If killing them is what it takes to save me from...that...Well, so be it. There's no way I'm letting them take me alive for __**that**__ purpose._

Thankfully, the main level of the hotel is mostly clear of convicts, save for one, who was immediately eliminated from a distance. _I should get a sniper rifle the next chance I get... It'd be a lot better than this rifle I've got, that's for sure._

After a thorough search of the main floor and no deputy in sight, Alex heads further into the hotel, eventually walking into what appeared to be a dining room of some sort. It is completely empty, save for one individual, a blonde man wearing leather armor in the exact center of the room. His wrists are bound with rope, a feeling the Courier remembered all too well. She walks over to him cautiously, briefly wondering if it was a trap of some sort.

"I... Don't suppose you're here to free me? I'd cross my fingers, but..." The man trails off, glancing down at his wrists. Alex shoulders her rifle awkwardly.

"Deputy Beagle?" She asks, coming closer.

"The very same, my dear. And you are?"

"Alex. I'm a courier with the Mojave Express. Someone told me you might have information on a man in a checkered suit and a pair of Great Khans." The deputy nods vigorously.

"My dear lady, I think I can assist you on this. But, if you haven't noticed, I'm in a bit of a, uh... Predicament here. If you could just untie me and get me out of here, I'd be more than willing to help you." Alex kneels down in front of him, untying the knot of the thick rope. Now free, Beagle stands, dusting his leather armor off.

"Much better. Let's go."

Now back outside, Alex turns to him.

"Now that you're free, can you tell me anything about the man in the checkered suit?" She asks. Beagle nods.

"Yes, my memory is much clearer now that I'm out of that dangerous situation. Anyway, I was, er... Performing recon, gathering information on some of the Powder Gangers a couple of days ago, when some Great Khans arrived with your friend in the suit. They were chatting about some delivery they had just taken from a courier; you, I assume," At Alex's nod, he continues. "They said something about going through Nipton to Novac to meet some sort of contact there."

"Then Novac is where I'm going... Thanks." As Alex turns to leave, Beagle's hand falls on her shoulder.

"Wait. We still don't have a sheriff for the town. Who's to stop ruffians from assaulting us again?" Alex sighs a bit. She had wanted to keep going... Every moment counted at that point, if she was ever going to catch up to the man in the checkered suit. Still, she couldn't just leave the town defenseless.

"All right. I'll help you find a new sheriff." She says, finally relenting.

"You will? That's great! I'll start thinking up questions for the interview. The sheriff that got incarcerated up at the NCRCF might be a good place to start," Alex's blood chills at that suggestion. Wasn't that where these Powder Gangers came from in the first place? "Or, you could convince the NCR guy across the way there to take the town under his wing. Though martial law doesn't really sound very fun..." Beagle's face sours at the idea slightly. The Courier wracked her brain, thinking hard. Surely there had to be some way to help Primm that didn't involve her getting blown to bits by a chain gang or placing the town under further oppression...

"Wait! What about Primm Slim? Could he be the sheriff?" Alex asks. The question takes Beagle back for a moment, he apparently hadn't considered that.

"Well, I... Suppose he could. If you know anything about robots and reprogramming, that is, then give it a shot."

Though it took quite some time, given Alex's inept handling of most things technology, she finally got the robot up and running, much to the delight of the town. Johnson even went so far as to give her a few caps and a couple bottles of water for the trip, before sending the Courier on her way once more.

_Through Nipton to Novac... Suit isn't getting away from me that easily._ With new determination, Alex exits the town of Primm, each step bringing her closer to Nipton and her stolen Platinum Chip.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note**_

**brickbreak22: Yes, chapter 5 was done rather quickly. I rushed it a bit, I admit, but the chapter had been gathering dust for a while and I wanted to get it out as soon as I possibly could. I, myself, am not entirely happy with the way it turned out, but the dreaded writer's block was encroaching, and I had to hurry before I ended up taking a week or so hiatus. What's a guy to do except try and try again, eh? Perhaps this chapter will come out much better.**

**kitsune-demon16: You make a good point, and I have to agree with you. The Capital Wasteland was indeed a much grittier environment than the Mojave. To be honest, I'm not even so sure if the Mojave should even be called a "wasteland". It's too civilized and comfortable, especially when it's compared to the slavers, Raider gangs, and Super Mutants you run into every three minutes in the Capital Wasteland. That said, a person from there definitely wouldn't emerge looking for the next damsel in distress to save, that much is certain. **

**DesertStar87: I was actually considering doing that. Energy weapons do indeed hold a special place in my heart; there's nothing better than turning someone into a giant pile of green goo, in my opinion. :)**

**Brad: Actually, I'll likely be adding companions in the next couple chapters or so, but yes, for now it's Courier and Lone Wanderer-centric.**

**WaitWut 3: I appreciate the energy and enthusiasm! Glad you're enjoying it.**

**CyberJordan: That, in my opinion, is the best part of being a writer. Keep 'em guessing. ;)**

**Everyone: Thank you all for reading, I appreciate the reviews. Cookies for everyone!**

**Now on with the next chapter!**

Justin leans against the railing of the damaged highway overpass, staring out at the city of New Vegas. It was impossible to see the inside of the city, but the blinding lights annoyed him greatly. He had learned of a man named 'Mr. House' in passing with the pair of NCR heavy troopers in the camp behind the trading post. Apparently, this guy lived in the Lucky 38 Casino, the 'tower that looks like a giant phallus', as one of them had so vividly described it, controlling the city from there and refusing to come out to meet their ambassador or anyone else. In truth, Justin cared very little, but he planned to go to the Strip before long, so it would help in the long run to know a bit about the locals.

Most, as had been described to him, were NCR troopers on leave and somewhat well-off NCR citizens coming in from the West in an attempt to win big. Justin had scoffed at that. Over two hundred years later, even after a _nuclear holocaust_, this giant parasite of a city still continued to bleed people dry. It was baffling.

Justin sighs heavily, exhaling cigarette smoke out into the air. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even noticed the man in the checkered suit approaching him.

"Hey baby, you wouldn't happen to have a light, would ya? I've been dying for one of them cancer sticks." Justin eyes him for a moment before reaching into his duster, handing the man the requested item.

"Call me 'baby' again and I'll shove that lighter up your ass," Justin remarks coolly, almost smirking as the man cringes somewhat, lighting a cigarette of his own and handing the lighter back. "There. Now leave me to smoke in peace." Much to Justin's irritation, the man goes nowhere.

"You, uh, you're not from around here, are you? You look like a rancher, sure, but you don't exactly have that 'western' look about ya." Justin shrugs broadly, unconsciously beginning to grind his teeth in irritation.

"Might have something to do with my mother being Chinese... Is that a problem?" He asks. The man in the checkered suit shakes his head.

"You're taking things too literally, pally. I just meant you don't look like somebody from the Mojave. You look like you can survive out here, unlike the rest of these guys. That's why I'm here, to offer you a chance to earn some money." Justin sighs, he already had around 1,500 caps on him and really had no need to collect more. His trusty hunting rifle hadn't let him down since the very first day he had set foot into the wastes, and ammo generally wasn't very expensive. And even if it was, it was nothing a little 'forceful coercion' wouldn't fix.

"You might have noticed things are pretty tough around here. All I'm asking is -"

"Let me be very clear with you, 'pally'," Justin interrupts, taking his sunglasses off to glare at him. "I will not deliver a letter of yours half-way across the wastes to a town under assault by vampires. I will not dive into a Deathclaw nesting ground to retrieve a tesla coil for you. I will not injure or irradiate myself for some fucking book you're writing. I won't even buy you a damn drink, because I don't know who you are. Now... If you don't get the fuck out of here right now, I'm going to wring your damn neck and string you up with that tie of yours." Justin's sudden outburst leaves the man gawking for a moment, but he finally manages to find his words again.

"It's called manners, baby, you ever -" He is cut off once again, this time as Justin's fist makes solid contact with the temple of his head. The force of the blow sends the man spinning to the ground, completely knocked out.

"I said stop calling me 'baby'." Justin spits on his unconscious form, flicking his cigarette away before kneeling down next to him and proceeding to loot his unconscious form. Sadly, the man didn't have much on him, the exception being a rather exquisite 9mm pistol. Justin looks it over for a moment before pocketing it. These handguns were generally not very powerful, but perhaps this particular one would fetch a few more caps when he sold it. He also had a pack of cigarettes, which Justin pocketed, as well as a... Poker chip? Why would he be carrying one of those?

Justin frowns slightly at that, examining the chip in further detail. It was heavy... Very unusually so, for such a small item. It was also made of something other than clay... Metal? Justin gets to his feet, walking back to the trading post. He pulls the bandanna he had gotten from the legionary in Nelson up, so it is covering practically his entire face. Combined with the sunglasses and the cowboy hat, nobody would ever even know what he looked like.

"Water for the road. I need to get going." Justin tells Michelle, one of the founders of the 188 Trading Posts, who nods and goes to fetch it. He studies the Lucky 38 poker chip for a minute more, flicking it into the air like a coin and catching it before shoving it into his pocket. Perhaps it would come in handy later on.

Beverage now in hand, Justin turns to leave, going back across the overpass he had knocked the man in the checkered suit out on.

"Hi there!" Justin immediately reaches for his belt, pulling out his weathered 10mm pistol and whirling about, gun barrel leveled directly with the forehead of the person that had spoken to him. It was a young woman wearing tan robes of some sort, the hood pulled up to hide everything but her face from view. Surprisingly, she doesn't flinch, despite having a gun shoved in her face. "...Was it something I said?" She questions innocently. Justin grunts angrily, holstering the weapon once again.

"Don't sneak up on me, girl. You'll live longer." He grinds out, turning on his heel and striding away, back across the overpass, heading for the Strip.

"So... Where ya goin'?" Justin glances to his left to find the woman walking beside him, hands clasped behind her back.

"Vegas." He replies curtly. This woman had no business following him, and he wasn't quite above knocking her out, if it came to that. Once, he would've gladly asked her to tag along... But those days were far behind him. He was the Lone Wanderer, for god's sake.

"Ooh, looking to strike it rich, huh?" She asks. Justin shakes his head.

"I'm looking for someone there. Why do you care, anyway?" He asks. The woman shrugs comically.

"I dunno, just curious. It's a favorite trait of mine," She smiles innocently as she says this. "Who're ya looking for? Some higher-up in the casinos?"

"I hope not. He's not that important, last I checked..." Justin pauses, sighing heavily. He stops walking, turning to face the woman. "Look. Do you have a reason for following me? Or are you just going to keep gouging me for information that doesn't concern you?"

"Both, if I have my way," Her smile grows a bit wider as she says this. "Anyway... You look like you've come a long way. Where are you from?"

"That's not important. What _is_ important is why you're following me around. I'm not looking for a traveling companion... I work alone. Done so for a while now. Why would I change that?" Justin replies.

"Well... I'm really good at punching stuff. And you look like you're a good shot," The woman motions to Ol' Painless before continuing. "Come on, it's a match made in heaven!" Justin crosses his arms, jaw firmly set.

"You're not coming with me. End of discussion. I'm not here to help the NCR, the Legion, or who-the-fuck-ever. I just want one man. After that..." Justin trails off. He hadn't actually decided what he was going to do when he finally did track down Autumn. What would actually be left for him to do after settling the score? He had no home to go back to, and no family or friends left. "Well... I'll worry about that when the time comes."

"I bet you make allies everywhere you go, don't you? You must be especially popular with the ladies," The woman remarks dryly. Justin merely glares at her. "Come on, it's not like I have anywhere to go."

Justin looks her over thoroughly. He couldn't tell very much about how fit she was thanks to the loose-fitting robes, but the Power Fist on her right hand backed up her previous argument of punching things well enough. Perhaps...

"What's your name?" Justin barely manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The woman's curiosity was at the level of a young child, it seemed.

"Justin."

"No last name?" The girl gives him a sly smile. "Or are you just not going to tell me? It's not like I'm going to pry, or anything. We've all got our secrets, after all." For some reason, Justin couldn't help but sense sarcasm in her words.

"Yes... Some of us more than others."

"What, you're not going to ask for _my_ name in return? How rude. Now I'll have to go cry myself to sleep. Meanie." This time, Justin is unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. _I need to get going and you aren't helping me. Time for this to end._ Eyes staring forward coldly, Justin suddenly tosses the bottle of water at her.

In the short time it had taken for her to catch it, Justin had already closed the small gap between them, his right fist slamming directly into her abdomen. It was quick, simple, and apparently brutally effective, as the girl slumped as befitting one who had just been knocked unconscious. As effortlessly as he had knocked her out, Justin steps forward, catching her before she hit the ground and shifting her in his arms, figuring it would be decidedly easier to carry her bridal-style.

"You'll thank me for this later, girl..." He remarks, carrying her back into the trading post and laying her down against the railing of the highway overpass. She would be fine there, at least until she recovered.

Adjusting his hat, the Lone Wanderer pulls the bandanna around his face down to his neck, reaching for his cigarettes. He didn't need a traveling companion for what he was going to do. The only companion he ever truly needed up until the fall of the Enclave was Dogmeat, who had since then passed on. There was Charon, too, but he hadn't spoken to the Ghoul since the trip to the Pitt, and Justin hadn't bothered to return to the Underworld before leaving the Capital Wasteland once again for Point Lookout.

"Damn it, I tried to tell you," Justin says to her unconscious form, bringing his cigarette lighter up to light the end of the 'cancer stick', as the man in the checkered suit had so affectionately called them. "Why don't you wastelanders ever listen? I want to be left the hell alone." Getting back to his feet, Justin once again sets out for the Vegas Strip, intent on settling his grudge once and for all. Vengeance would be his soon enough, he thought with a twisted smirk, and oh how sweet it would be.

The city of "New Vegas" was far more demolished than the Lone Wanderer had been expecting. Sure, the Strip looked relatively okay from a distance, but the city itself reminded him disturbingly of Washington, D.C. From what he had heard from the trading post, Vegas was mostly untouched from the atomic warheads. That, however, was apparently a total lie, as the city was just as wrecked as the capital of the former United States. With a sigh, Justin proceeds further into the ruins, rifle leaning against his shoulder nonchalantly. Not only was the city in ruins, it was also completely deserted.

That thought immediately changed as the boom of a rifle of some sort cracked through the area. The bullet slams directly into the building next to him, mere inches away from his head. Instinctively, the Lone Wanderer dives into a small gap between the building and the ruins next to it, taking cover next to a dumpster. He couldn't believe his luck. Barely five minutes into the city and he was already getting shot at.

Unshouldering his rifle, Justin pokes his head out from behind the building, managing to get a quick glance at his enemy before retreating again as more bullets slam into the ruined building. Two targets in total; both looked as if they hadn't bathed in weeks and were wearing patchwork armor. Each of their helmets were adorned with the bones of some kind of animal. To Justin, they looked like the Raiders of the Capital Wasteland.

_Hmm... How should I go about killing these two?_ Peeking out multiple times, Justin manages to gain a brief idea of his surroundings. The two raiders were advancing on him in the center of the street. The street was also open, with little-to-no cover, save the skeleton of a Pre-War vehicle a few paces away from the raider's postion. Deciding to go for it, Justin leans out from his cover, taking aim at the exposed engine of the car. If he could just hit it in the right place...

A bullet suddenly bounces off of the armored left shoulder of his Regulator duster, forcing him to duck behind cover once more. Forgetting about the vehicle momentarily, Justin reaches up to his shoulder, a gloved hand feeling around for any damage. Thankfully, the bullet hadn't penetrated the makeshift armor. _Maybe it's a good thing I dismembered that old armored Vault suit of mine and added the armor to this after all..._

Something metal clinks against the ground next to him, forcing him to glance over. To his horror, one of them had thrown a frag grenade.

"Shit!" Justin scrambles to his feet, sprinting off further into the small alleyway. He throws himself behind the building, waiting for the explosion. However, much to his surprise, the grenade fails to explode. _Could it have been defective?_

"You idiot, you forgot to pull the pin again!" Justin brings a hand up to his face, shaking his head in disbelief. Really?

"Sorry man, I haven't had a fix in a while. Been kinda jumpy, ya know?" Another gruff voice replies.

"Start looking. He's around here somewhere..."

Deciding to take his chance, Justin pops out from around the corner, taking aim with his rifle. He fires a single shot into the face of one of the raiders, killing him instantly. He chambers the next round just as the second is about to retaliate, firing once again. This raider, however, is slightly more resourceful, as he dives behind the dumpster for cover. Releasing his hold on the hunting rifle, Justin allows it to fall to the ground before sprinting forward, right hand reaching for his machete. He leaps onto the dumpster, tearing the lethal weapon from his belt before pouncing on the raider. In one swift, deadly move, he stabs deeply into the man's chest, the deadly blade piercing his heart with ease. Emotionlessly, the Lone Wanderer drags the blade downwards, ignoring the man's screams of agony and brutally slicing open the raider's torso from the chest all the way down to his left hip bone.

Adjusting his hat, Justin gets up and walks away from the mutilated and dying raider nonchalantly, reaching down to pick up the frag grenade that hadn't exploded. After inspecting it for a second or two, he shoves it into his pocket. He turns back to face the raider, listening as the gurgling noises stop.

"You raiders only understand brutality, as I've come to find out," Justin muses, nonchalantly spinning the blade in his hand expertly as he stares down at the corpse. "You rape, pillage and cannibalize people just for the sick pleasure of it all. Personal morality aside, I always hated your kind... Burn in hell, you sons of bitches." Indeed, there was something satisfying in it all, he had to admit. Who knew how many people these two had killed and brutalized in some of the most disgusting ways imaginable? The Lone Wanderer cared little, but the former Regulator in him still enjoyed the thrill of gunning down the worst the former United States had to offer.

Justin is about to return to grab his rifle when the sound of something mechanical whirring in the distance catches his ears. Robots generally meant bad news, as the Lone Wanderer had come to realize in his many months of travel. Quietly, he sneaks back to the end of the alleyway, Liberator gripped tightly in his right hand. The sounds were getting closer... And closer...

Steeling himself, Justin springs from his hiding place, pouncing on his intended target. It was indeed a robot, much taller than him, with broad shoulderplates and thick armor, as well as a screen in the middle with a picture of a cartoon-ish cowboy on it. Justin swings his machete, but to his surprise the robot actually dodges his attack.

"Whoa there, pardner! I don't mean any harm!" The robot says. Justin relaxes somewhat, though he continues glaring up at the robot. Had it really just spoken?

"What... Are you?" He asked, finally forcing himself to relax completely. The adrenaline rush he had gotten from the previous attack had worn off, now only suspicion and curiosity remained.

"I'm a Securitron. One of Mr. House's robot security forces around the Lucky 38 and the Strip. But I suppose you can call me Victor, pardner. Lot catchier than 'robot', ain't it?" Justin pauses for a moment. _The Lucky 38..._ Quickly, his hand dives into his pocket, reaching for the Lucky 38 poker chip he had taken. Perhaps this robot knew something?

Justin shakes his head, stopping himself. It was just a poker chip. There was no sense in making a big deal out of what was likely a piece of trash. Pulling his hand free, Justin gestures toward the raiders he has just killed.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about these guys, would you?" He asks. Victor is silent for a moment.

"Hmm... I remember hearing something 'bout these varmints in Vegas. Fiends. Yeah, that's it." Justin glances back at the dead fiend.

"Sounds like a gang of some sort... Happen to know where they come from?" He asks.

"No clue, pardner. Might want to try lookin' around here though. Who knows, maybe you'll find 'em soon enough." Justin nods, waving the robot away.

"That's all I needed." With a merry goodbye, the robot continues rolling on his way. Justin goes back to pick up his hunting rifle, sheathing Liberator once again. Now fully armed, he lights another cigarette, taking a long, satisfying drag off of it. These people had attacked him, and the Lone Wanderer was getting sick of these armed factions assaulting him. If the raiders of the Capital Wasteland were any proof, they were like a bunch of cockroaches, no leadership at all. Still, these people, these 'Fiends', seemed to be more centralized in a single area than the raider gangs. Perhaps decapitating the leadership would end them, and remove a thorn in his side at the same time.

"Sounds like my business is with these Fiends today..."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note**_

**citus334: He's not really an ass, per se; rather, he's more anti-social and would much rather be left to his own devices. Most people usually understand that at first, but when a select few like Veronica decide to push the envelope, he usually takes drastic action.**

**DesertStar87: Yeah, I had actually thought about doing that, but then I decided to pick up Boone instead. She'll make another appearance later on in the story though. As for the meeting, it's probably going to take place in New Vegas, I'm just not exactly sure where yet. It probably won't be the Strip, though.**

**CyberJordan: The Fiends have awakened a sleeping lion indeed. They'll never see it coming. ;) Oh, and I do plan on a confrontation over the Platinum Chip sometime in the future, so violence may or may not be involved.**

**Lone Critic: I see I have a dedicated critic in the midst! Excellent. I hope to see more reviews from you in the future.**

**Everyone: I appreciate the reviews. Now on with the next chapter!**

* * *

Alex yawns tiredly, her feet dragging a bit as she continues down the road. She had been making good time so far, but she had been unable to sleep very well ever since she had passed through Nipton. There, she had run into Caesar's Legion, of all things, under the command of a man named Vulpes Inculta.

Though generally polite when he had spoken to her, in a strange way, Alex had quickly found out that the band of legionaries had burned almost the entire town and slaughtered all its inhabitants in some of the most brutal ways the Courier had ever seen. Despite the town apparently being full of Powder Gangers, the sight of the burning bodies on a nearby stack of tires and the gang members suffering on makeshift crosses was too much for her. Needless to say, the Courier had escaped that particular town as soon as possible.

Glancing down at her Pip-Boy, Alex takes note of the next destination on her quest to track down the man who shot her. Novac. _Huh... Maybe I should thank that guy for shooting me. At least now I'm getting to see a few places I've never been to before._

The first thing the Courier sees as she nears the town is a large dinosaur of some sort. It towers over the landscape, and would probably have looked somewhat terrifying were it not so fake looking. Did people before the war actually take vacations to see things like this?

Ignoring it for the moment, Alex enters the town, immediately beginning to explore a bit and ask around about a man in a checkered suit. To her dismay, nobody had seen him, though one person was kind enough to direct her to someone that may have seen him. A man named Manny Vargas.

"Didn't think I'd end up going in here..." Alex remarks to herself, walking up the stairs leading to the dinosaur. She walks up to the counter, leaning on it slightly as she glances up at the shopkeeper.

"Excuse me, sir... You wouldn't happen to know where Manny Vargas is, would you?" She asks. The man gestures toward the stairs.

"Check up at the top of the dinosaur. He's usually keeping watch up there." Alex thanks him, going up the stairs to the top of the dinosaur. When she got there, she found a man wearing brown fatigues and combat boots, along with a red beret of some sort.

"...Manny Vargas?" The man immediately whirls around, eyes glaring out at her from behind a pair of sunglasses. The sudden movement surprises Alex, the Courier unconsciously taking a step back and bracing herself. After a few tense seconds, the man breaths a small sigh of relief.

"Goddamn it, don't sneak up on me like that!" Alex glances down at her feet, feeling her face heat up somewhat. Perhaps she should have knocked first... "What do you want?"

"I... Um..." Alex twiddles her thumbs for a second, having momentarily forgotten the question. "I'm looking for Manny Vargas." The man studies her for a moment before finally replying.

"Hey... You're new around here, aren't you? In that case, maybe you can help me with something..." He says. Alex glances up at him. Nothing was free in the Mojave Wasteland, it seemed.

"Er... I suppose I can... What do you need?" She replies.

"First of all, my name is Boone. My wife was taken from me a while ago, by Legion slavers. I know someone in this town sold her to them. I want you to find the son of a bitch who did it." Alex raises an eyebrow. His wife had been sold? Did that mean she was still a slave to the Legion?

"Why don't you let me try to find her? I can -"

"My wife's dead. I want the son of a bitch who sold her." An uneasy silence fills the small area for a moment after Boone's sudden outburst. Alex gapes at him for a second in dismay before immediately uttering out one of her trademark apologies.

"My god... I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea..." She says quickly. Boone ignores her, taking his beret off and handing it to her.

"Take this. Find the person who sold her and send them out here in front of the dinosaur. I usually work nights, but I can make an exception for this. Put the beret on when you get them here. I'll take care of the rest..." A pause. "Oh, and you better have some goddamn proof, too. I don't want to kill any innocent people." Alex takes the beret from him, walking back into the dinosaur without saying another word.

"I wonder how she ended up getting sold in the first place..." Alex mumbles to herself, stepping out into the heat of the desert once again. For some reason, she felt compelled to help this man, Boone. She had heard the stories of what the Legion did to their slaves, especially women. It wasn't pretty. But if his wife was already dead, at least she was better off. _If it came down to it, I think I'd rather end up dead than used as a sex slave by those plumed assholes, too..._ Alex shudders slightly. Sadly, that would likely be an all-too-real scenario for a girl like her if she were to come across a band of legionaries less "forgiving" than the ones she had encountered in Nipton. Alex doubted she would be able to handle well-trained soldiers, even ones armed with simple machetes... She had enough trouble dealing with renegade convicts!

Needing information in order to proceed further, the Courier decides to step into the hotel's lobby and ask around. It was completely empty, save for one woman behind the counter, an old lady wearing glasses and a dirty Pre-War dress.

"Oh, aren't you a pretty one... What can I do for you, dear?" Alex smiles a bit as she walks up to the counter. The elderly and their comments... It was rather typical.

"I need information about a couple things. You wouldn't have happened to see a man wearing a checkered suit pass through here with a couple Great Khans, would you?" She asks, leaning against the counter casually. The old woman brings a hand to her chin, thinking for a moment.

"Sorry, dear. If they did, they passed right on through. You should try talking to -"

"Manny Vargas, I know," The Courier responds, cutting her off. "That's all right. I appreciate it. Anyway, there's still the other thing. What do you happen to know about Boone's wife?" The old woman seems taken aback by this question. Alex narrows her eyes somewhat in suspicion.

"You mean Carla? Oh, it's just awful, what happened to her. I can't believe someone would ever sell her to the Legion... We never did exactly see eye-to-eye on some things, but that's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy." The old woman replies, her voice sounding somewhat hasty. Alex presses her lips together before finally nodding.

"I see... Well, that's all I needed. Thank you." Alex replies, smiling warmly and rapping her fingers against the desk before turning around to head back outside. Once outside, her smile instantly disappears. _That old woman's hiding something._

To say that Alex was ignorant when dealing with people would be a grave misunderstanding. When it came to words, she had a definite advantage of sorts - particularly the ability to sense when somebody was a poor liar. And the old woman was lying. But in order to truly know, Alex had to find proof.

Deciding to take a chance, Alex walks back into the lobby, heading back up to the counter.

"Oh yeah, there was something else I needed to tell you. There's something out there in front of the dinosaur, but I'm not sure what it is. Would you mind accompanying me there? I could use your input." The Courier asks in the sweetest voice she could manage. The old woman eyes her for a second before standing up.

"Of course, dear." Alex grins, leaning against the counter.

"Great!" The Courier's eyes fall upon the safe behind the counter, causing her to pause for a moment. Maybe... "Oh, but could you go ahead without me? There's one other thing I need to take care of. It'll just take a second, I swear." Again, the old woman nods.

"Okay... But just for a second. I still have work to do, dear." And with that, she exits the lobby, leaving Alex alone. Immediately, the Courier ducks behind the counter, attempting to pick the lock on the safe. It felt wrong to go pilfering through another person's possessions... But she had to know.

After several failed attempts, Alex is about to give up hope, until her eyes finally fall upon something shiny lying on the counter next to the cash register. Reaching for it, the Courier realizes that it is a key. _Could it possibly go to the safe?_ Taking a deep breath, Alex places the key into the small opening, closes her eyes, and twists.

The key easily unlocks the safe, much to Alex's relief. She tosses open the heavy door, her quick hands immediately diving into the opening. There were several valuable types of items in the safe - Pre-War money and bottle caps - and even some useless junk, such as chips from the casinos in Vegas. Alex leaves them alone, not wanting to steal from the old woman. Finally, her fingers brush against a piece of paper. Curious, Alex snatches the piece of paper from the confines of the safe. She gasps as she reads it over, bringing her right hand up to cover her mouth as her green eyes move back and forth rapidly, reading the fine manuscript.

"It... It's a Bill of Sale..." Alex crumples the piece of paper in her hand, feeling a wave of disgust wash over her body. The way the note had been written, so casually; it was almost as if they had sold a simple brahmin or bighorner to the Legion. Shoving the piece of paper into her pack, Alex storms out the door, Boone's beret gripped tightly in her hand.

She reaches the dinosaur to find the old woman from before - Jeannie May Crawford, as the Bill of Sale had named her - waiting for her patiently near a rock.

"Sorry about that... What I was doing, it... Took me longer than usual." Alex mumbles as she approaches, eyes facing the ground. Even in this situation, she still felt guilty, sending someone off to die like this. It just wasn't her nature to deceive people in such a manner. "But don't worry, I'm finished. Now..." Reluctantly, Alex places Boone's beret on the top of her head.

Jeannie's head instantly explodes in a fountain of red blood, skull and bone fragments. Being in such close proximity, Alex is unable to escape the mess, a scream of surprise and general disgust escaping her lips as the blood splatters the front of her body. Her face, her armor, her hair, Boone's beret... No part of her was left without at least one drop of blood.

"Ew..." Alex squeaks out, arms pinned tightly to her sides. Her entire body begins to shake, and it is all the female Courier is able to do to keep herself from falling to her knees. "This is so gross..."

Boone shows up at that point, scoped hunting rifle in hand.

"It's done... How did you know?" He asks. Alex exhales a shaky breath, somehow willing her left arm to move and reach into her pack, drawing out the Bill of Sale. She hands it to the grizzled sniper wordlessly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as he reads over the note.

"That explains it." Boone grunts, balling up the piece of paper and tossing it away. Alex turns her head to look at him.

"So... Now that you've... Well... What are you going to do now?" She asks. Boone gives her a blank stare.

"Don't know. Not staying here, that's for sure... Maybe I'll travel, like you." Alex swallows heavily. He was likely a crack shot, if the way he had wasted Jeannie was any indication. Alex also needed someone to watch her back... Who knew? With help from a person like Boone, she just might survive long enough to see New Vegas with her own eyes. Deciding to pop the question, Alex inhales deeply once again, gathering her courage.

"Why... I mean, that is, if you want to... You could come with me, maybe? I could certainly use the help and the... Um... Companionship." Alex blushes as she comes to a startling realization. Boone _was_ fairly handsome, after all, despite likely being quite a few years older than her. _Great... Now I'm turning into my friends from back at my old job._ Boone studies her for a minute more, scratching his stubble, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You probably don't want to do that." He remarks, a hand reaching up to adjust his sunglasses. Alex turns her entire body around to face him completely.

"I do! I'm always getting into trouble somehow or another... It'd be nice to know there's someone looking out for me out there. And you're probably a crack shot. Besides," Alex blushes again. She had always relied on others for support, and it seemed as though that habit wasn't dying any time soon. "I... Well... It gets kind of lonely out here, with no one to talk to..." Boone crosses his arms, glancing down at his feet, as if seriously considering her proposal.

"...Fine. Let's get out of here." He remarks at last, waiting for her to take point. Alex hands Boone his beret back, which he quickly puts on.

"Well... We can't leave just yet. I've been looking for someone, a man in a checkered suit. Everyone keeps directing me to Manny Vargas, but he won't tell me what I need to know. Do you have any other ideas?" Boone nods.

"Manny keeps a log on the computer in his room. Might want to look there. It'll save some time." Alex sighs, relieved. It was good to have a helping hand.

After a quick break-in, they quickly discern the next destination of the man and his cohorts: Boulder City.

"It's good to have you along, Boone..." Alex remarks as they start off down the road. Boone says nothing, merely walking beside her. _Maybe... Just maybe... Things are finally starting to look up for me._


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note**_

**DesertStar87: If you're still wondering, the meeting will take place in the very next chapter after this one. Who says killing druggies isn't a good social event? :)**

**kitsune-demon16: I thought about that myself, actually. More than likely, he'll have to buy more in the coming chapters, so perhaps a merchant could notice and tell him he's been using 'outdated bullets', and have him upgrade to the .308 rounds. Or perhaps Boone could as well; he uses a scoped hunting rifle when you first meet him in the game.**

**Brad: Glad you're still liking the story.**

**CyberJordan: High Perception and Luck was what most of my characters had in New Vegas (Perception for energy weapons and Luck to clean out the casinos every so often), and I suppose Alex is no different from them. But yeah, we'll see how it turns out.**

**EvilMonk: Glad you're liking it so far, and I hope you manage to get around to reading it all eventually.**

**Everyone: I appreciate all the reviews.**

**Now on with the next chapter!**

Boone, as Alex had quickly discovered, was not much of a talker.

The female Courier had been attempting to make conversation with the former NCR sniper ever since they had left Novac. Boone, as it seemed, simply was not interested, giving her short, two or three worded answers each time she asked him something. The most she had gotten out of him thus far was some history on the First Recon sniper battalion he had served with, as well as the meaning behind the battalion's slogan.

Alex, meanwhile, had been spilling her guts in typical Alessandra Roark fashion. It felt good to vent, to talk and be noisy, even if her somewhat captive audience didn't have much input.

"...And then I found you. That's pretty much everything that's happened to me the past few days. Not bad for someone who just got shot in the head a few days back, right? It burns me up that I got caught in all this mess in the first place. I mean, if they wanted that stupid chip that bad, all they had to do was ask for it... Hey, is that Boulder City?" Alex stops gushing for a moment, pointing at the ruined city in front of them. Boone nods.

Boulder City, as Alex understood it, was mostly destroyed by explosives during a battle between the NCR and the Legion. Legate Joshua Graham had been unable to adapt to the NCR's strategy, so the story went, and had unknowingly sent his entire legion into the NCR's trap. It was widely touted as one of the NCR's greatest victories of the era.

As they approach the city, Alex and Boone are met by an NCR lieutenant standing just outside a barricaded area. Boulder City, as the lieutenant had explained, was the current stand-off point between the NCR and some Great Khans. They had taken several NCR troopers hostage in one of the buildings, and didn't show any signs of leaving any time soon. When questioned further, the lieutenant seemed almost unwilling to send his men in to rescue the hostages.

"Well... If you won't help them, I will," Alex remarks, turning back to Boone. "Wait here. You're former NCR, who knows what they'll do if they see you. I'll go talk to them and see what's going on." Boone nods.

"Understood." Taking a deep breath, Alex pushes the wooden door open, walking inside. A squad of NCR troopers were nearby, taking cover in the rubble as they faced off against the Great Khans across the small battlefield. Alex walks past them, hands raised high so as to - hopefully - avoid getting shot at.

"Are you crazy, kid? They'll tear you to pieces out there!" One of the NCR troopers warns. Alex ignores him, continuing on. The Courier was actually surprised by her own bravado. Walking into a hostage situation certainly wasn't the smartest thing she had ever done, but lives were at stake, and somebody had to do something.

Entering the small store safely, a pair of all-too-familiar Great Khans jump up from their position behind the counter. One of them apparently recognized her, as his face paled.

"Oh shit... You're that courier Benny wasted back in Goodsprings!" Alex nods, smiling sweetly.

"That's right. I guess I'm just a lucky person... Say, I was just coming out here to see about maybe freeing these hostages, but since I found you, of all people... Where's the Platinum Chip?" The Khan scoffs at her.

"Not here, that's for sure. That little asshole betrayed us and took off for the Strip like a coward. Probably headed to that little trading post up north, but he's probably nowhere near there by now. As for these hostages, they're not going anywhere until the NCR backs the hell off." He replies. Alex crosses her arms.

"Okay... Maybe we can work out some sort of deal then?" She asks. The Khan scratches the back of his head, considering her offer.

"Hmm... Maybe we can. I could shoot my way out of here, sure, but I don't feel like heading back to Red Rock Canyon with a few extra bullet holes in me. Tell you what... I'll release the hostages. But the NCR has to guarantee that they'll let us leave in peace. Deal?" He asks. Alex nods, her smile growing a bit wider as she turns to head out the door.

"Done! I'll let the lieutenant know." She replies, pushing the door open.

"Wait!" Alex turns back just in time to catch something small and shiny. Looking at it, she finds that it is a cigarette lighter, with exquisite engravings on it.

"What's this?" She asks curiously, holding the object up.

"Benny's lighter. Do me a favor, shove it up his ass when you find him." Alex cringes in disgust before leaving. Great Khans, why did they have to be so... Brutal?

"I'm back!" Alex announces, stepping through the small wooden gate again. Boone glances up from his position in a nearby chair. Lieutenant Monroe walks over.

"What's the deal?"

"The Khans have agreed to release the hostages if you'll let them leave in peace." Monroe's face takes on a troubled expression.

"That's... A problem. I just got the order to kill the Khans, hostages or no." Alex furrows her brow.

"You mean to tell me they actually told you to charge in and murder everyone? They've surrendered!" She protests, crossing her arms and glaring at the lieutenant. It is returned in kind.

"You think I actually want to go in guns blazing? I don't like it, but orders are orders..." Monroe sighs heavily as Alex doesn't budge. "Fine... What would you have me do?"

"Honor the agreement," Both the Courier and Monroe turn to look at Boone. "No reason to doom the hostages."

"...Very well. The Khans will go free." The lieutenant says, finally giving in. Alex smiles, somewhat relieved.

"Thanks, lieutenant. I suppose we'll be going now..." With a nod to the Courier, Monroe disappears through the gate, to set up the necessary arrangements. Alex walks over to Boone, fingering Benny's lighter curiously.

"Say, Boone... Does the name 'Benny' mean anything to you?" She asks.

"No." Typical blunt, one-word reply.

"I thought as much..." Alex says with a sigh. "But I did find a lead on where to go next. One of the Khans said something about a trading post a little north of here. You think he's there?" Boone adjusts his beret.

"Might be best to keep moving... The guy you're looking for is probably half-way to New Vegas by now." Alex glances back down at the lighter. Boone was probably right. The Khan himself had even said something about him likely not staying there long, hadn't he? Wordlessly, Alex steps back out onto the road, Boone following suit. She could see Vegas off in the distance.

That particular sight brought one very important question to mind: what was she going to do when she actually found Benny? Alex doubted she could simply murder him; that wasn't her way of handling things, no matter the circumstances. But she also doubted that he'd simply hand her the Platinum Chip with no strings attached if she asked, either.

Alex shakes her head, clearing her mind. There would be plenty of time to decide what was going to happen to Benny when she actually found him. Until then, it would be best not to worry about it and focus on actually getting to New Vegas in one piece.

"Got a question for you," Boone pipes up. "This guy, this... 'Benny'... Are we going into the Strip to find him?" Alex shrugs.

"I suppose so. I mean, Vegas is a pretty big place. He could be anywhere. The Strip would be where I'd go to hide, though." She replies.

"Hmm. Got the required amount of caps?" Boone asks. Alex stops, facing the grizzled sniper with a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody gets into the Strip without the required credit balance. It's a safeguard, mostly to keep the less-fortunate out." Boone replies. Alex swallows heavily.

"And... J-just how much is this required 'balance'?"

"Two thousand caps." Alex felt her heart skip a beat. She reaches for her bag of caps, expecting the money to magically be there for a second before stopping herself.

"I-I don't have nearly that much... That's insane!" Boone shrugs.

"Maybe. But they still do it." Alex sighs defeatedly, shoulders slumping heavily.

"Looks like we'll have to take on an odd job... Or a hundred. There's no way we can raise that much money!" She exclaims. Boone shakes his head. Why, oh why, did he decide to come along with her?

"We're close to Camp McCarran. We can stop there and find a few jobs." He says.

Camp McCarran was very, very large. NCR tents blanketed the area outside the former airport. Soldiers were spending their time relaxing, drinking, or running through their training for the day at the firing ranges. A few of the officers were in a large tent nearby, arguing over a map of some sort.

"Whoa... It's huge. I mean, I knew the NCR had a big garrison in the Mojave, but I never dreamed of anything like this!" Alex remarks, taking in the sights. It was oddly a little thrilling, she thought. She had never been inside a military base before. "Wait here for a second, Boone."

Finally deciding on a place to go, Alex walks toward the officer's tent. She manages to catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Bullshit! There's no way you're telling the truth, Dhatri! My men are still getting killed out there!" One rages. The taller one, called Dhatri, shakes his head.

"You know as well as I do that there's going to be casualties out there. That said, they've been dramatically reduced. Whoever's killing these bastards is doing a damn good job out there." He replies.

"Well, whoever he is, he better start going after the leaders soon. This is getting ridiculous." Alex decides to step in at that point.

"Excuse me... Is there some sort of problem?" She asks. The room falls completely silent, every single man in the room staring at her. Alex falters under their scrunity.

"Somebody get this civilian out of here!" The angry officer yells. Two of the guards in the tent immediately make a grab for Alex. One catches her by the wrist, though she is able to quickly squirm out of his grasp and retreat back outside.

"Wait!" Dhatri calls, holding up a hand. The two men immediately stop themselves, standing at attention. Dhatri steps out of the tent, giving Alex a salute. "I apologize for that, ma'am. You... Surprised us."

"That's all right, I suppose... No harm done." Alex replies. Dhatri adopts a more relaxed position.

"Well, now that that little bit of unpleasantness is out of the way... What can I do to help you?" He asks.

"I was wondering if you perhaps had anything I could do? I'm trying to get into the Strip, you see, and -"

"And you don't have the required credit balance to get in," Dhatri finishes for her, smiling a bit. "You're not the first person that's come here saying that, believe me. Anyway, it just so happens that I do have something that needs to be taken care of. It's not gonna be easy though." Alex waves for Boone to come over. He would likely want to hear what Dhatri had to say as well.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Fiends, haven't you?" At Alex's nod, he continues. "Well, we've been having a good deal of problems with them recently. There's three in particular that I need 'out of the picture', so to speak. I want their heads on a platter - literally." Alex pales at that.

"Y-you mean you actually want me to... Cut off someone's head?" She asks. Dhatri nods.

"Three 'someones', actually. Violet, Cook-Cook, and Driver Nephi." Dhatri then went into a more detailed explanation of the three. Violet had raised a group of dogs like her own children, so to speak; Cook-Cook was a sadistic rapist with a love of brahmin and food preparation; and Driver Nephi was a crazy bastard who had so far killed at least twelve of Dhatri's men with a golf club, hence the name. He had also given her their previous locations.

Alex didn't particularly relish meeting any of the people Dhatri had told her about, but it seemed as though she had little choice. She needed the caps.

"I guess we should go try to hunt these people down, then..." Alex says dejectedly, turning around to walk away with Boone.

"Wait!" Dhatri's voice stops her. "Before you go, there's one other thing I need to tell you about. Fiends have been dropping dead left and right now. Someone's out there killing them, and with precision. We don't know who this guy is that's doing all of this, and none of my men have reported any sightings. Still, watch yourself. This guy is dangerous." Alex nods before walking away, Boone following close behind.

"Which one are we going after first?" Boone asks. Alex shrugs.

"I don't know... Really I don't. I'm honestly more interested in that guy Dhatri mentioned. The one shooting Fiends. I think... I think we should try to find him. He might be able to help us out." Boone grunted.

"Vigilantes don't make good allies," He replies, "But it's your call."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note**

**Ovall Aocrog: By 'other one' do you mean 'King of Spades, Queen of Hearts' by Lvl 69 Gengar, by chance? I know, I hate that too. It was very well-written, and even gave me the inspiration to start working on this one. I wish he'd update, too. **

**Lone Critic: For Chapter 7, you're correct, the conversation between Manny and Alex never actually happened; instead, they just used the computer and got the information that way. I apologize for any confusion, looking back I can see it was very vaguely mentioned. And was McMurphy dead? I couldn't remember, and my dog decided to use my New Vegas disc as a chew toy one night and it's scratched beyond all repair, which means no checking back. DX So if I make any more mistakes, let me know and I'll correct them.**

**Emily: Haha, I don't mind rambling. I do it often, if you haven't noticed by some of the comments I leave in these notes. And I wanted to try something different with both of the characters. The Lone Wanderer and the Courier in most of the fics around here are, generally, champions of justice and nearly unbeatable in a fight, so I figured doing something a bit more 'opposite' would be worth a try. And according to the reviewers, so far it's worked very well. A lot of people really seem to like Justin as a character, too. Who knows, maybe the Justin and Alex pairing will become even more popular than Edward Cullen and Bella from Stephanie Meyer's horrid Twilight series? =P As for my roleplaying site, if you'd like to PM me then I'd be happy to give you more information. Not trying to turn anyone away, but there's a few things you should probably know about the site and its denizens before joining. Don't worry, I don't bite... Much. ;)**

**Everyone else: I appreciate the reviews. Cookies for everyone!**

**Now on with the next chapter!**

* * *

"My god..."

Alex stares at the corpses before her, unconsciously bringing up a hand to cover her mouth. She and Boone had left McCarran an hour prior and had ventured into the western ruins in search of the 'Fiend-Killer', and had since then stumbled upon several sites of his 'handiwork'. The one they were currently looking at was the worst they had come across so far; six bodies strewn out in the middle of the street, some of them killed by a firearm with lethal headshots, others were slashed apart and hacked up gruesomely with what could only be a blade of some kind.

Boone kneels down next to one of the corpses, studying it carefully. This particular Fiend had suffered a fatal slash from a hacking weapon, which had cleaved him down from his right shoulder all the way to the rib cage.

"This guy got hit last, after all his friends were picked off. Seems our vigilante enjoys finishing things up close," Boone says with a grunt, standing up and backing away from the corpse as the smell begins to get to him. "Probably to see the fear in their eyes before the final strike... Brutal stuff. Usually the Legion are the only ones with this style of combat. Think our guy could've picked up a few tricks from them?" His voice had a slight icy edge as he finished the sentence.

"Um... I-I don't know..." Alex replies after a short pause. Indeed, she had no previous dealings with Caesar's Legion before, but anything was possible. "Maybe... L-let's just press on. I don't want to see this anymore."

"Still want to find this guy?" Boone asks as they start off down the street again. "Guy's obviously a nutjob. He's as likely to shoot us like any other Fiend out here." Alex nods.

"Whoever he is, he's strong. I'm not betting on him actually helping us out, but... Maybe he has a few tips on how to deal with the ones we're hunting down? I don't know. It's complicated." Boone says nothing, continuing to walk alongside her. Alex hoped she wasn't alienating the grizzled sniper with her conduct. They hadn't exactly meshed well ever since Boone had joined up with her. He was too quiet; his answers to her questions were all straight and to the point, and he had made a point to avoid talking about himself or anything that had happened in his life, the one exception being that he was a former NCR soldier.

Still, Alex needed him. She had always depended on the aid of others during trying situations. Her own cowardice sickened her at times, but what was she to do? She was by no means a warrior; not tough or deadly like many other females in the Mojave. She couldn't possibly survive out there on her own.

A few more feet up the road. More bodies. Further down. Even more corpses, these slain even more gruesomely than the last. With each passing area, Alex felt herself growing sicker and sicker to her stomach. Maybe Boone was right; perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. Anyone willing to commit such acts of brutality against chem addicts certainly had no qualms about wasting a young, naïve Courier and her companion in a most torturous manner.

"...It's practically genocide..." Alex whispers to herself as she steps over another corpse. It didn't fit the textbook description laid out by the former United Nations as genocide, but it was certainly close enough to it for her particular tastes. As she walked, she suddenly found herself angry at Pre-War civilization. Why did China and the United States have to go to war? Why did the world have to be destroyed by atomic fire, leaving nothing but a bunch of underground freezers - or Vaults - and a once-great civilization, now reduced to primitive, nomadic tribals and sadistic bastards who killed, raped, and tortured without a second thought?

The more she thought about it, the more Alex found herself almost feeling sorry for the Fiends, at least in a sense. She knew what they did for a living, of course - but that didn't mean they deserved to be butchered in this manner. Nobody did.

After reaching a fourway intersection and finding yet another dead Fiend lying on the hood of the husk of a Pre-War car with a bullet between her eyes, Alex had had enough. She doubted she could call anyone leaving behind such a massive trail of bodies in his wake her friend in any sense of the word. No matter how much help they could provide, was it really worth the effort? Alex sighs heavily, turning to Boone.

"I think we've searched enough for one day... Don't you?" She asks. Boone grunts in response, though Alex is unable to tell whether he meant 'yes' or 'no' by that.

"Your call... It's getting late. Think we should head back to McCarran and continue tomorrow?" Alex thought about the prospect for a moment. A bed sounded good, even if it was just a bedroll in a tent. Sleeping on the ground, propped up against the wall of some building was not one of her favorite parts of adventuring. Her muscles ached in protest at the very thought of it.

"Hmm... You know what? That sounds great. It's been a long time since I've had anything close to a bed to sleep on. Um... Well, excluding all that time I spent out cold with bullets lodged in my brain, haha." It was her attempt at a joke, albeit a very poor one. Boone obviously didn't find it amusing, though he wasn't exactly the best person to joke with. Alex made a mental note to stop attempting to provide comic relief as she began to walk.

Unless she happened to have really good material at the time, of course. In which case Boone still probably wouldn't laugh. Or even smile. Yeah... Maybe she was better off not doing so.

An earth-shattering scream followed by several gunshots ripped through the air, causing Alex to gasp. The Courier glances around wildly, though she is unable to see anything nearby that might've caused the commotion.

"Sounded like it came from close by..." Boone remarks, slowly reaching for his scoped hunting rifle. "Want to check it out?" Alex nods, reaching for her own rifle and jogging off in the direction she had heard the noises come from with Boone on her heels. More gunshots and another scream echoed through the area. _We can't just sit around and do nothing... What if someone needs our help?_

As Alex rounds the corner, she almost slams into a rather filthy looking man who was limping away in the other direction. With a small yelp of surprise, Alex jumps back, studying the individual carefully. He was dressed as a typical Fiend, with the tattered armor and such, but the Courier's attention was drawn more towards the three gunshot wounds in his torso. The man had obviously noticed her and Boone, as he looked up at Alex with pure terror evident in his eyes.

"Please... For god's sake, help -"

That was all the Fiend was able to get out as a bullet tore through the back of his head, exiting through his skull. Alex's eyes widened as the man fell with a sickening thud, likely dead before he even hit the ground. "Wha-?" Alex cuts her scream short and tears her eyes away from the dead Fiend, glancing back at Boone, who merely points directly ahead. Alex's eyes followed his finger, unsure of what he saw...

And when she finally saw what he was pointing at, her blood chilled in her veins and her heart skipped a beat.

Standing there, in the midst of about four dead Fiends, was a single man. A hunting rifle somewhat similar to Boone's was clutched in his right hand, while the left hung loosely at his side. His face was downcast, almost completely obscured by his hat. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, the smoke gently wafting away in the breeze. What was perhaps most strange about the individual before them, however, was his clothes. The brown duster he was wearing was unlike anything Alex had ever seen before; it was like the greatcoats that men wore back in the days before the war, reaching down to his knees, and it was armored somewhat by a pair of makeshift shoulderplates and bandoliers for easy ammo access. Lastly, he was wearing white pants or fatigues of some sort, which were tucked into a pair of very worn out knee-high combat boots. A pair of fingerless gloves enveloped both of his hands, and on his left forearm was... A Pip-Boy?

That was likely the most unique part of his uniform; it stuck out like a sore thumb, so to speak.

"I'd say this is the vigilante you've been looking for." Boone remarks, stating the obvious somewhat. Alex nods.

"Yeah... I'm going to go talk to him. If he tries anything..." Alex trails off. Boone seemed to have understood, however, as he tapped his rifle with his finger a few times. Exhaling a breath, Alex begins to walk toward the vigilante, shouldering her weapon so as to show she didn't intend to do any harm. The man didn't seem to care, however; he was busy looting the bodies, for whatever reason.

"Um... E-Excuse me," The Courier remarks as she gets within earshot. "Sir?" The man ignores her, pocketing some caps and a syringe of Med-X. Alex takes his silence as a signal to continue on.

"Right... Um... We've been looking for you. For a while now, actually." The man scoffs at her remark, but again doesn't respond. He stands to his full height, and Alex found herself looking up into the air at his face. He was tall; taller than her and Boone, anyway. And despite wearing the duster, Alex could tell he was very muscular by a quick glance at his arms. All in all, this man was a very intimidating individual; Alex suddenly found the urge to shy away and hide behind Boone. There was no doubt he could tear her to pieces if he desired to.

"Really, now? I've no business with you... Just these chem addicts." He exhales a cloud of white cigarette smoke from his mouth as he speaks. Alex coughs once, waving her hand back and forth to clear the air.

"Yes... We've seen your... Handiwork," She remarks, studying the man's face intently. To the Courier's surprise, he was young, very young, despite his somewhat weathered and battlehardened features. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark black sunglasses, which added to the intimidation factor. Did he base his entire wardrobe on the amount of fear his clothes would put into a person? Alex wondered.

"We're - that is, Boone and myself - looking for a few Fiends in particular ourselves... And you clearly have experience dealing with them. I was wondering if you maybe had any idea on how to deal with them." Alex bites her bottom lip; even though she was unable to see his eyes, she could feel them staring directly through her. It was a strange feeling.

"They're chem addicts... Not legionaries. All that needs to be said." The man responds, resting his rifle against an armored shoulder. Alex frowns heavily at that. Could this man be any more vague?

"I see... Well -"

"How long is this going to take? You standing around talking isn't getting me any closer to the leader of the Fiends, or my goal." The man interrupts. His bluntness catches Alex off guard somewhat. She got the feeling that this person was quickly getting irritated with her presence... And perhaps it was in her best interests not to piss off the person with the bigger gun and better fighting skills.

Taking her pause as an opportunity to leave, the man turns on his heel, walking away from her casually. Alex gapes for a moment; blunt _and_ rude... A bad combination.

"Wait!" To the Courier's surprise, he actually stops, though he doesn't turn to face her.

"Um... Well... There's no easy way to say this, but..."

"Spit it out, girl. You're wasting valuable time."

"It's just, I find myself in need of skilled help... And you certainly know your way around a battlefield, so I just thought..." Alex trails off once again.

"So you thought I'd tag along if asked. Well, I'll tell you what I told the woman I met earlier... I'm not looking for a companion," Glancing over his shoulder, he adds, "And my services aren't for sale, either. There's a reason why they call me the 'Lone Wanderer', after all..." Alex glances down at the ground. So much for this idea...

"Oh... I see... But, what if I -" Alex's eyes widen as the Wanderer immediately closes the distance between them, practically getting directly in her face. He removes his sunglasses, glaring down at her. Alex stares into the deep brown irises, seeing a mixture of emotions; though irritation and anger easily trumped all the others. The Wanderer's eyes had an incredibly hard, cold edge to them; they were almost... Soulless.

A gasp escaped her lips, despite the Courier's attempts to force it back down.

"No, not even if you assist me in dealing with these Fiends..." Alex blinks, unsure of what to think of that. He had read her mind. Had he dealt with situations like this before? "You wastelanders... There's one thing that keeps you all of one mind and body; your weakness and utter inability to deal with mundane tasks on your own. Everybody needs something from me, but none of them are willing to do any of the hard work themselves..." The Wanderer sighs heavily. "I thought the Mojave would be different, that people would be more self-sufficient... But you're just like all the others. And I'm fucking _sick_ of it." Putting his sunglasses back on, the Wanderer flicks his cigarette away before opening his mouth to speak once again, exhaling smoke with every word.

"People like you have no business out here facing down the same horrors that I do every day... I bet you're just like all the others, aren't you? Weak in both body and mind, relying on people like me to fight your battles for you..." Throughout the whole ordeal, Alex could only stare at him with a shocked expression on her face. "I see I was correct. This is no place for you, girl... Get the hell out of the ruins, before I miss a pack of Fiends and they find you. That sniper back there can't protect you from everything." And with that, he left.

Alex continues staring straight ahead long after the Lone Wanderer has disappeared from view. Boone walks up at that point, shouldering his rifle.

"You all right?" He asks. Alex's shoulders slump at that point as her eyes return to the ground, her hair thankfully hiding most of her face from the grizzled sniper's view.

"No... Let's just go... I don't want to stay out here anymore..." Dragging her feet, the Courier turns around, walking back towards Camp McCarran.

The entire time, her mind continued going over the Wanderer's words. Again and again they played themselves back, over and over and over. Alex had discovered why she couldn't bring herself to respond to any of his points; they were all true. She relied on others too much. She was weak in both body and mind, as he had said...

Alex sighs heavily, feeling tears beginning to well up in her eyes. The Wanderer's words had cut her deeper than any sword ever could. _He's right, _she reasoned with herself, _I shouldn't be out here... It was foolish of me to think I ever had a chance in the first place..._ A single tear streaked down her cheek, falling to the dust below. She silently thanked whatever god existed for her being ahead of Boone at that point; if he saw her cry then he would probably leave her as well.

The Courier was so deep in thought that, as she rounded the corner of a building, she failed to notice the baseball bat slicing through the air right in front of her. It smashed into the side of her head with significant force, flooring her instantly. Alex groaned in pain, managing to glance up through blurry vision into the face of a Fiend, before a second blow knocked her into the dark realm of unconsciousness.

* * *

_**A/N: Muha, cliffhanger. It must be done, however. Next chapter will be up soon.**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note**

**I'd like to apologize, for leaving so long after that cliffhanger. I know I said it would be soon, but the RPGs on my site have picked up quite a bit, and that combined with a great deal of other things has left little time for anything else. But here's chapter 10, at last.**

_Alex... Alex..._

The Courier's eyes flutter open slowly, her head still feeling light from what had happened. Nothing but darkness greeted her; it was nearly impossible to see, save for the flaming barrel in the corner of the room that gave off very little light.

"Wake up!" Boone's voice. That was good. That meant he was still nearby. But why was his voice so low and harsh?

Alex attempts to bring a hand to her head in an attempt to stop her head from hurting, only to find her arms chained behind her back. Remembering all too well what had happened the last time she had been restrained in such a manner, the Courier immediately goes into panic mode, struggling as hard as she possibly could to free herself. To her dismay, the chains hold strong, tied to whatever it was that was propping her up in her current sitting position.

"Don't bother. Just going to wear yourself out like that." Boone says. Alex hangs her head in defeat.

"Where are we, Boone? This is... I can't remember what happened to us." She asks, thinking hard. They had just met the vigilante that had been shooting Fiends, the 'Lone Wanderer', while they were searching for the three Fiend lieutenants that the NCR Major from Camp McCarran had told them about, then... Nothing. That was where it ended.

Laughter from a nearby corner brings the female Courier back to reality. She glances up from her position on the ground, though she is unable to see who is the cause of the noise.

"Hey hey, she's awake, boss!" Someone says. Alex didn't particularly like the insane undertones his voice carried.

"Good. Get the fuck out and guard the door... Can't be too careful, with that asshole running around shooting everyone." The sound of thudding footsteps reaches Alex's ears, coming closer and closer. Without warning, an armored hand grabs her chin roughly, forcing her to look up into the face of another Fiend. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness somewhat, and as a result she was able to make out the face of her attacker. Typical dirty, slimy face of a Fiend, a mohawk which stuck up into the air quite a few inches, pale eyes, and a small amount of stubble in the form of what she guessed was a goatee.

"Well, well, well... What have we here? Ya know, my guys told me they saw someone running around out here in Fiend territory... But they didn't tell me it was a soft, pretty little girl," Alex wanted to vomit in disgust. "Ya know what else they told me? That a certain little pretty girl and her sniper companion just so happened to strike up a conversation with the guy that's been picking us off. Now isn't that a strange coincidence? What would be your standing with him, this wanderer?"

Alex was confused. They had been spying on her? She didn't know anything about the Lone Wanderer - not even his name! How could she possibly have any sort of relationship with him?

"I... I don't know who he is..." A dinosaur-sized fist came into contact with her face at that point, nearly knocking the Courier over. Her head rebounds off of the stone wall behind her with a sickening crack, almost knocking her unconscious again. Alex whimpers in pain, tasting blood in her mouth.

"Beating a woman... Why don't you be a man and hit somebody who can take it?" Boone asks, glaring up at the Fiend. A boot to the face is his answer, knocking his beret off his head and cracking his sunglasses.

"No one said you could talk, jackass!" The Fiend snaps, turning back to Alex and grabbing her again, this time by her long, blond hair. Alex immediately flinches, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Please don't hit me again... I don't know who he is!"

"Stop lying. You're the one person he hasn't shot out here yet... You're in league with him." The Fiend replies. Alex shakes her head as vehemently as possibly, which wasn't much, given the iron grip on her hair restricting her movement. She couldn't help but crinkle her nose in disgust; the man smelled as though he hadn't bathed in a week, his breath was sour with the stench of tobacco, alcohol and god only knew what else.

"This isn't getting us anywhere... Tell me, have you heard of me? He has." The Fiend asks, pointing at Boone. Something about his tone sent a chill down Alex's spine, the Courier's body beginning to shake visibly. She couldn't stop, much to the Fiend's amusement.

"Ah... I think you have. Know what I think?" He asks with a sick smile, standing back up. "I think I'm really gonna fuckin' enjoy this..." Alex's eyes widen, her blood running cold as he begins untying the rawhide laces of his trousers.

BANG! BANG!

Everyone in the room jumps as gunshots rip through the silence outside. The silence settles back in again, then nothing.

"The fuck is that?" The Fiend asks, staring off into the darkness. Alex watches as well, unsure of what to do. Should she scream for help?

For the longest time, they stared out into the darkness. Then, finally, a small flicker of flame caught her eyes, lighting something and illuminating a figure of some sort. A cigarette...The scene for the Fiend, however, was not elation. It was terrifying.

"Oh shit..." The Fiend remarks, taking a step back.

It would be the last thing he ever said, as the small flicker of light suddenly moved towards him at an almost lightning speed. A machete emerged from the shadows, cutting deep into the Fiend's stomach. Alex cringed as her savior dragged the machete to the side, allowing the Fiend's intestines to slide out from the gaping hole, hitting the stone floor with a disgusting squelch. Not done yet, apparently, the man grabbed the Fiend by the head, jerking his head back and opening his windpipe for all to see with a quick slide of the machete before kicking the Fiend over, allowing him to bleed out.

Alex immediately tore her eyes from the sight, staring down at the ground. She couldn't bear to look at it. Blood pulsed from the Fiend's neck in spurts and gushes as more of the red liquid pooled around him from the gaping hole in his stomach. A gargled, tortured, whistling sound emerged from the Fiend's neck for a few seconds as he tried to suck in one final breath before expiring.

Unabashed, the figure kneels down next to the corpse, looting it without a second thought. At that point, Alex was able to get a good look at him in the dim light coming from the nearby burning barrell. Combat boots, fingerless gloves, a brown duster that was no doubt stained with blood, a cowboy hat, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips... It was the Lone Wanderer.

Alex suddenly feels the chains behind her slacken, then give way completely. The Wanderer had found a key on the corpse and, using his lighter in order to see, had removed her restraints. That was the final straw as the reality of what had almost happened finally caught up with her. Alex immediately launched herself at the Wanderer, wrapping her arms around him and breaking out into loud, gasping, uncontrollable sobs.

To her surprise, he didn't move; though he didn't attempt to comfort her either. Rather, he just stood there, an immovable wall of muscle. She could smell the faint earthy smell of his cigarette and could feel the stickyness of blood on his clothes, but it was familiar to her, in a sense, and she didn't plan on going anywhere any time soon... At least not until his duster was thoroughly saturated with her tears.

"I'm sorry..." Alex whispers, sniffling a bit as she finally calms down somewhat. She grabs a handful of the Wanderer's duster, balling her hands up in the coarse material and burying her face in his chest. A pair of strong, gloved hands clamp down on her shoulders, gently pulling her off of him. The Wanderer says nothing, not even looking at her as he goes to release Boone from his restraints as well. Alex merely gawks for a moment before snapping her jaw shut. No words of encouragement. No hug. Not even a look in the eye. Truly, this man was one of a kind... But even so, she wanted to be held and forget about what just happened, damn it!

Alex's eyes widened at that. She brings a hand to her heart, feeling her face heat up. Where had THAT come from?

"Um... Thank you..." Alex begins. The Wanderer says nothing. "Who was that guy you killed?" Alex asks, fighting the urge to fidget beneath his gaze. The Wanderer kneels down next to the corpse, studying it in great detail.

"Cook-Cook... One of the Fiend leaders I've been looking for." Alex couldn't believe her luck. Wasn't that one of the Fiends Dhatri had sent her and Boone to find?

"Been looking for him too. Dhatri wants us to bring back the head for a reward." Boone says for her. The Wanderer nods.

"Then it would appear as though I've done someone else's dirty work for them... Yet again. How very quaint." Alex studies his face as he says this. Though she couldn't see his eyes, his face was scrunched up in a disgusted scowl. It was as though the very idea of helping others truly revolted him. Alex was certain he hadn't been like this at one point... What had changed him? His entire face told the story of a very young man who had likely traveled too far and seen far too much.

"Well, Boone, I suppose we should..." Alex pauses, gulping down her disgust. "C-Cut his head off..." Wordlessly, before either the Courier or the sniper could move, the Wanderer strides over to the corpse with a strange grace about him, drawing his machete from his belt and swinging it down with all his strength, decapitating Cook-Cook in one single, fluid motion. He picks up the head by its hair, tossing it at Boone. The blood splatters over the sniper's shirt as he barely catches the squishy projectile. Boone glares wordlessly at the Wanderer, though he ignores the sniper.

"There. You have your undeserved prize. Now run back to your NCR overlords and turn it in for the reward. I have things to do." Not thinking, Alex reaches out as the Wanderer gets within arm's reach, catching him by the rolled up sleeve of his duster. The murderous glare that resulted from her action almost stopped her heart.

"I'm coming with you." Silence engulfs the room for what seemed like an eternity. It was quite the standoff, Alex thought wryly. Her staring up at the Wanderer with wide eyes, awaiting his next move; the Wanderer glaring back at her with murderous intent; Boone silently edging closer to the 10mm pistol hanging on Cook-Cook's belt, evidently fearing the worst was about to happen... It was a surreal moment in the pale moonlight; time seemed to stop as her green eyes locked with the Wanderer's cold brown.

A strong hand smacked against her's, knocking her hand off of his duster.

"Don't touch me again, if you value your life," The Wanderer ground out. "And you're not coming with me... I've got a Vault to ransack, and you'd just get in my way."

"No... I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not," Alex replied simply. "Boone's not a bad shot, and I can kill a few things... Come on. We really need your help." The Wanderer merely crosses his arms.

"I'm afraid you are very mistaken. Saving you here was a coincidence, nothing more. Cook-Cook needed to die, but there's one Fiend in particular that needs to be taken down for the entire gang to fall apart. Once I kill Motor-Runner, the Fiends will be gone forever, and then I can finally go to the Strip without a pack of imbeciles breathing down my neck." So the Strip was where he was headed... That meant they had a common goal.

"So long as you have the required credit balance. Otherwise you're just going to be fighting an endless horde of Securitrons." Boone pipes up, having now snatched Cook-Cook's pistol. The Wanderer snaps his head to the side, glaring at the sniper.

"And just why would that worry me?" His face suddenly scowled even more, if that were possible. "You doubt my skill, wastelander?" He spat the word like a curse, as though it was something to be reviled and destroyed. Alex quickly shoots Boone a worried look, afraid of what the Wanderer might be about to do. He had raised his voice, something that he hadn't done in their previous encounter.

"Didn't say anything about your skill. But I've yet to see anyone force their way into the Strip." Boone replies coolly, apparently not threatened.

"An entire army of these things won't stop me from reaching my goal... Nor will Caesar's Legion or the New California Republic," Alex couldn't help but notice the way he pronounced 'Caesar', in the classical Latin form. Boone seemed to notice it as well, as his expression quickly turned to one of suspicion. Nobody pronounced Caesar's name that way, save for the legionaries themselves. Alex's eyes widen slightly at that revelation. Could... Could he be one of Caesar's agents on a mission to destroy the Fiends?

"But, failing that, so I can possibly avoid leveling one of the last bastions of civilization, I can play along with you... What do I need?" He asks.

"Two thousand caps. Nothing more, nothing less." Boone replies simply. The Wanderer reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pouch of what Alex assumed were bottle caps.

"One thousand and five hundred... Give or take what I've looted off these chem addicts so far." Alex suddenly brightened up at the prospect.

"We'll have around five hundred more when we turn this in for the bounty... Maybe we can help each other out, uh..." Alex trails off, suddenly realizing she didn't know the Wanderer's name.

"Justin. Justin Shepard." Well, it was a start, at least. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Alex smiles, somewhat elated with herself.

Justin, however, was deep in thought. The Wanderer had found himself at a quandary. From the day his father had left Vault 101, he had done things on his own. He had some assistance from the Brotherhood of Steel, of course, but even they were at best lazy individuals who had him do a vast majority of their dirty work for them. Self-reliance was all he knew; was all he cared to know. The destruction of Raven Rock, Adams Air Force Base, and the Citadel; freeing the slaves of the Pitt; the drug-induced nightmares, beastly swampfolk, and insane tribals he had fought through in Point Lookout, leading up to the eventual death of Professor Calvert, all of this he had done on his own. And more.

An even more recent example would have been the Legion's raid on Nelson. Even then, self-reliance enabled him to escape with his life while those around him died, and even gave him the opportunity to kill one of Caesar's most seasoned soldiers.

To ask for help with such a mundane task was absurd to a person of his experience. But there was one part of his brain that nagged him specifically - the logical part - one worry that gave him pause. While he had no doubts as to whether or not he could fight his way through these 'Securitrons', what if Autumn was indeed staying in the Vegas Strip? If Justin ran in and leveled half of the city, he would likely just escape once again during the carnage, and Justin would be forced to travel the whole of the West just to track him down...

...No. No. He would not do that. Not again. As strange as it was, he found himself forced to deal with these people. They would help him get into the Strip, and then they would part ways. For good.

"...Fine." Alex was about to jump for joy, when Justin continued on. "But you are going to do something for _me,_ first. My services do not come free of charge. Not anymore..." Alex thought she heard regretful undertones lacing his voice, but she decided not to press him on it.

"What do we have to do?"

"Motor-Runner must die. I was going to head to Vault 3 from here, and assault the place. And since you're so eager for my assistance, perhaps this is the chance for you to prove that you aren't completely worthless. So far I have been... Unimpressed, with the two of you." His comment stirred a bit of anger within Alex, but it quickly melted as she locked eyes with the Wanderer again.

"If it means getting into the Strip... Then I suppose we can help you." The truth was, the idea of an all-out assault on the Fiends terrified her. She wasn't meant for warfare. But this was likely her only real chance of getting into the Strip... Provided Justin kept his end of the bargain and gave up the caps, of course. But that seemed less important than staying alive, at this point.

"Then try to keep up. If you get left behind, I'm not coming back for you. And if you die, rest assured that I won't be shedding any tears. Now," Justin sheaths his machete, tossing his spent cigarette carelessly into the dust. "If you're coming along, gather your things. We've much to do."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**

**Well, here it is at last. Chapter 11. I really need to work out a way to crank these out a bit faster. Perhaps if I establish the rule of at least one chapter per week, things will work out better. **

**Also, I have some things for everyone. Pictures of the two main protagonists, so that way you can possibly get a better mental image of what they look like. I was going to put them here in the chapter so you wouldn't have to go looking for them, but apparently the site won't let me do that, so I added them to my Profile instead. The links to the pictures are at the very bottom of my profile, so if you'd like to take a look, then by all means do so. Who knows, it may help you enjoy the fic a bit more if you actually know what the characters look like, instead of just having a couple of paragraphs of detail to go on.**

**Anyway, that's all I've got for now. I appreciate all the reviews, and now it's time to get on with the next chapter.**

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Alex watches Justin curiously as he walks at least five steps ahead of her and Boone, her soft hands gently caressing the cool metal of the plasma rifle she was holding. Justin had given it to her when they left Cook-Cook's hideout, when he had saw the extremely poor condition of her previous weapon, despite her attempt to refuse. She had barely even seen any plasma weapons in her lifetime, let alone handled one.

Justin didn't seem to care about her lack of experience, however. He didn't seem to care about a lot of things. What had changed him into...this? Surely he wasn't born with such an attitude, or the skills to kill so viciously as he did.

The truth of it was, the Lone Wanderer mystified her in more ways than one. Boone was...well, Boone...But he was amiable, to an extent, and at least he had said more than two words to her that weren't hurtful. Justin, however, seemed to despise her and wanted nothing to do with her. It was truly strange. They had met only once before this point, and suddenly he acted as though he knew all about her. But what was she to do? Say something? She would only piss him off more. Challenge him to a duel, as was the custom in some places? He would turn her into a pincushion of bullets.

Why had he saved her? Why would he bother, if he hated her so much? Millions of questions plagued the young Courier's mind, none of which were answered. Perhaps when she finally had a chance to talk with him, things would work out a little better.

Sighing a bit, Alex brings up a hand, glancing down at her Pip-Boy. 1:04 AM... Was it really that late? How long had she been unconscious?

Justin, meanwhile, was busy surveying the area around them. The spot they had paused at seemed to be clear of Fiends and other undesirables of the wastes. Resting his rifle against his shoulder, he turns to face Alex and Boone, voice monotonous and bored.

"It's late. We should stop here, for the night. We can continue to the Vault tomorrow morning." Alex gives him a confused look. He expected them to sleep on the ruins of the road?

"Stop here? We're going to sleep out in the open? Are you certain that's safe?" She asks. Apparently ignoring her, Justin walks over to a nearby building that is mostly still intact, sizing it up for a moment before giving the doors a hard kick. The doors, already weakened due to centuries of disrepair, immediately gave way, one of them even falling off the hinges and hitting the ground with a loud thump. Justin leisurely turns to face Alex and Boone once more.

"Any other pointless questions?" He asks, apparently slightly irritated. Alex shakes her head quickly, the familiar burn of a blush returning to her face. "Good." Justin enters the building first, gun at the ready, though he relaxes somewhat after realizing that the building is clear. Apart from an ancient-looking staircase that is falling to pieces and one or two back rooms, nothing else remains on the ground floor but a few desks and scattered paper, the building having long since been picked clean of all useful equipment by looters.

"You there. Sniper," Justin commands, motioning for Boone to come forward. "Get upstairs and make sure there are no undesirables lurking about. And you," He pauses once more, pointing at Alex. "Get back there and check one of those rooms." Alex frowns a bit, though she says nothing. Who was he to order them about in such an arrogant manner? Just because he was the best fighter...

Huffing angrily, Alex walks to the door of the room he had pointed out, hand resting on the doorknob. Before she is able to do anything, however, Justin kicks in the door next to her effortlessly, studying the room for a moment before declaring it to be clear.

Oh. That was why. He could just as easily kill her and Boone both and continue on his merry way while their corpses rotted in the nearest dumpster.

Alex twists the doorknob slowly, sucking in a breath before flinging the door open and barely resisting the urge to dive to the side as it slams against the wall. Contained within was a simple bathroom, with a broken toilet and sink. Sighing with relief, Alex returns to Justin, who is waiting in the center of the main room.

"It's clear." Her response is a simple nod. Boone returns from upstairs at that point.

"Clear." Justin nods again.

"Good. But even so, we can't sleep peacefully here. Or anywhere, for that matter. I'll take first watch. One of you can take over in a few hours." Turning on his heel, the Wanderer strides back to the broken entrance, stepping outside into the chilly night air once again.

"Nice guy." Alex glances back at Boone, a bit astonished. Was that his attempt at a joke? There was no time to ask, as the sniper had already laid down on the floor, intending to go to sleep. Alex glances back down at her Pip-Boy, noting the time once more. How did she get herself into these kinds of situations? The other couriers she had worked with were right, she supposed. Apparently not everyone was fond of her somewhat flighty and clumsy countenance, Boone and Justin included.

Deciding that she wasn't ready to sleep just yet after having been unconscious for a very long time, Alex steps back outside as well. It didn't take her very long to locate the Wanderer, who had just dragged a trash can filled with old Pre-War money out from around the side of the building. A nearly spent cigarette hung from his lips, as always, expression unreadable - as always. Justin immediately stops what he is doing upon noticing her, tossing his cigarette into the can. The Pre-War money catches fire easily, and before long there is a nice fire to warm the immediate area.

"What are you doing here, girl? I thought I said I was taking the first watch." Justin asks, warming his hands for a moment. The Courier steps forward to do the same.

"You did. I just don't feel like sleeping right now... Being unconscious will do that to you, I suppose, haha." Alex frowns a bit as Justin merely grunts in response.

"Is that supposed to be an agreement, or..." Alex trails off. "It's not supposed to be anything. I have been unconscious before, I know what it feels like." Justin replies.

"Ah, I see. So...where are you from?" It was a terrible conversation starter, Alex knew, but what else was she to do? Perhaps it was an OCD of her's. She often found herself unable to just sit there with a person and be completely silent.

"The East Coast. More than that, you need not know." Justin replies. Alex blinks a few times. The East? He was certainly a long way from home. And people usually never left their homes in the wastes, not without purpose. What had compelled him to travel such a great distance? The Courier found herself wanting to know.

"That must have been a long walk... How do you like the Mojave?" Alex asks. Justin merely scoffs at her. "It's more civilized, but the dangers are still real enough. Apart from that, there isn't much difference." Alex turns her attention back to the fire. So far, so good...

"Any interesting stories from the East? Mention of it is fairly limited out here." She asks.

"No." Well, so much for that piece of conversation. But she still had a few ideas left. He didn't seem ready to murder her just yet, after all.

"What do you do for a living, exactly? Do you have a job?" Justin glances down at his feet, memories of the Brotherhood of Steel and the rest of his former so-called "friends" emerging in his mind's eye, unbidden.

"Once. It is... Complicated." He replies after a few moments. Alex nods. "Also, I see you're wearing a Pip-Boy, like me. Are you... From a Vault?" The Wanderer's face takes on a stern, angry expression as she asks this. "Why are you asking me such pointless questions? I have not attempted to pry YOUR life story from you, have I?" He asks. Alex unconsciously takes a step back, cringing at the sudden accusation.

"I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean it like... Sorry." She replies. Well, there it was. She had finally offended him. Perhaps it would be for the best if she merely turned back and attempted to sleep for a bit.

"And do you have to apologize so much? Grow a spine, girl." Justin accuses rather rudely, reaching into his coat and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the confines within. Alex watches him for a moment, not sure of what else there was to say or talk about.

"Could I... Have one of those?" The words had come before she'd had a chance to stop herself, and she blushed as the Wanderer studies her for a moment, apparently thrown off by the sudden request. Alex had always wondered what a cigarette had tasted like, though she had never actually been given the chance to try one. The rest of the couriers and pretty much everyone she met were always holding her to some moral standard, of some sort. 'New Vegas Virgin', indeed.

Still, now was probably the best chance she would ever have. Chances were that she would end up dead or severely injured when they reached the Fiends' Vault, so why not live it up a bit?

"Didn't picture you as the smoking type..." Justin remarks, sounding a bit pleased, strangely enough. Alex ignores him, taking the pack as he holds it out and removing one from it, placing it between her lips. Justin flicks his lighter, holding it up to the tip of the cancer-causing stick and lighting it.

"...What now?" Alex asks curiously, wincing a bit as the smoke drifts close to her eyes. Justin rolls his eyes at her. "You really are green, aren't you? Suck back on it and breathe in the smoke." Alex does as he instructs. Surprisingly, it actually had a pretty decent taste to it, that was until she breathed in. Soon her throat, her lungs, her entire chest was on fire as the deadly substance traveled down her throat. Justin merely watches, an amused expression on his face as the poor Courier coughs and sputters, white smoke escaping her lips with every bit of air expelled. It takes her a grand total of two minutes to finally calm herself.

"Well... They're... Strong..." Alex wheezes, wiping a tear from her eye before rubbing at her chest in an attempt to stop the sharp pain there. The burning sensation had stopped somewhat, though everything from her throat to her lungs still hurt. Why did I ask for one of these...?

"They are an... Acquired taste, that I'll admit." Alex stares at him, mouth gaping at the small smirk on his face. It was the first sign of emotion he had ever actually shown, except for anger and indifference, and. "You find this funny?" She gives him a glare, though the realization that she had just humiliated herself in front of him caused her to blush, her red-tinted cheeks making the glare much less threatening than it actually was.

"Once upon a time, I was the same way. You have to have really good lungs to smoke these... Or really bad ones, as the case may be," Again, a small smirk. "It's almost funny, really, you remind me so much of..." The image of Amata Almodovar appeared in his mind's eye, unbidden. Yes... Just like how she used to be. Before I left.

"...Like who, Justin?" Alex asks, a bit curious as to who he was comparing her to. Justin's face takes on a somewhat soured expression. "Forget it. It's nothing." Alex nods, continuing to smoke the cigarette he had given her. It still burned her throat greatly, but it was beginning to get a bit easier. At least she wasn't reduced to a sputtering, coughing mess because of it.

Unsure of anything else to say, the two fall into silence once more, though it was not an uncomfortable silence. Alex had run out of conversation topics, and Justin obviously didn't plan on saying anything any time soon.

Finally finished with the cigarette, Alex tosses it into the fire, grimacing a bit. The aftertaste certainly wasn't very great... Did she still have any water left?

"It gets a bit easier, doesn't it?" Justin asks. Alex nods, warming herself by the fire once again. "Yeah... A little. Still kind of nasty, though." A few more moments of silence pass. "Well... I think I'm going to go back inside. May as well try to get some sleep." Alex decides, turning to head back to the building Justin had decided to corral them in. Justin says nothing, merely watches her leave before lighting another cigarette.

The Courier was very similar to Amata, he had figured that much out. The only real difference was that Amata was far more outspoken than Alex was, and was less likely to run if he stamped his foot at her. Both were caring individuals, and Justin couldn't help but ask the same question to himself that he had once asked Amata: why had she put up with him this long?

Granted, Amata had loved him, once. That was her answer to that question. The Courier, however, had known him for less than an hour or so. And if romance wasn't the answer, what was it? Desperation? She certainly seemed desperate enough to get into the Strip...

Justin sighs angrily, bringing a hand to his forehead as he feels a headache coming on. No. Alex was nothing like Amata. She was a typical wastelander; weak, pathetic, and spineless. To the Strip and then part ways. That was what they would do. Nothing more.

Alex lays down on the floor of the building, wincing a bit at how cold the tiles are. Sighing a bit, she draws her knees up, wrapping her body up into a warm, if somewhat uncomfortable, ball. She quickly fell into a dreamless slumber, apparently a bit more tired than she had previously thought.

The next day she awakens to find herself still laying in the same position floor, with Boone still snoring softly on the opposite side of her. Justin was nowhere to be seen. Alex's eyes widen at his absence. Had he ran off the previous night and left them there? She didn't remember him coming back inside, because he likely would have woken her up.

Attempting to get up, however, she finds something draped over her body. Glancing down, she finds that it is a very familiar brown overcoat, one that completely covers her body. She quickly adjusts herself, standing up with the coat draped over her shoulders before beginning to look for Justin.

It didn't take her very long to find her, as he was just in the other room, doing chin-ups like a madman with the help of the door frame. Alex watches him do so for longer than she had intended, staring at his well-toned muscles as they contracted and relaxed.

Finally, he finished, dropping back down to the floor with a small thud before turning around. As he did so, Alex took on a whole new level of blushing. Justin wasn't wearing a shirt, for whatever reason, and her eyes betrayed her by roving every inch and crease of his very nicely toned upper body.

This was a warrior's body, Alex decided. One didn't get this kind of muscle definition by simply working out. No, this came from war and many hours out in the hostile wasteland. Looking a bit closer, she could see that his upper body was absolutely covered in scars. Bulletholes, knife stabs, scar tissue from what she guessed was from plasma wounds... But the worst was, by far, three huge claw gashes from something, which came from his right shoulder all the way down to his left hip.

"...anyone ever teach...rude to stare?" His voice snaps the Courier out of her trance.

"Hmm?" She asks, not hearing a single word of what he said. Justin merely groans in irritation, reaching for his shirt and pulling it back on.

"I said, did anyone ever teach you that it's rude to stare?" Upon hearing the words, her teachings of morality kicked in. Her brain immediately short-circuited, nodes misfiring as all of her thoughts stuttered to a complete halt. All she could do was turn her gaze down onto her feet in dismay.

"S-sorry... I just... Ah..."

Oh. So that was what she was doing, Justin thought with an amused smirk. Many women in the wasteland had appraised him in a manner much the same as this. From the girls around Megaton to the terrors of Point Lookout. It never ceased to amuse him, how absentminded some of them could really be. Alex, apparently, was no different. Amata was the only one that was actually somewhat subtle about it. Sarah Lyons, however, was extremely blunt about it, though by the time she had decided it was time to throw him into the bed, Justin had already destroyed both the Enclave Mobile Platform and the Citadel.

Then the Brotherhood had turned on him, and that didn't exactly end well for her, Justin thought with a grimace.

"Y-your coat. I, um... Came to give it back to you?" Alex remarks, holding the aforementioned object out for him to take. It was a pitiful attempt to hide her shameless gawking, she knew, but for some reason she found some way to constantly humiliate herself in front of the Lone Wanderer. Perhaps it was best not to think about it.

"So... I guess we're heading to the Vault today?" Alex questions. Justin nods, strapping a bandolier of ammunition around his body before throwing the overcoat on and rolling up the sleeves. "Yes. Motor-Runner dies today. Is the sniper up yet?" Justin asks, reaching for his hat and sunglasses.

"Yes." A voice at the door answers. Alex glances back to find Boone standing there, rifle on his shoulder and ready to go. Justin reaches into his coat, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"Then we go."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's Note (Will be a long one, so bear with me for a bit. There's a fairly important question at the end of it that I'd like people to respond to. But before I get into that, I have reviews to respond to.)**_

**Lone Critic: Ah, there you are! Been missing your reviews, I could do with a bit more criticism. Appreciate the review.**

**666 Kage: It's not exactly misplaced, if you see things from a bit broader of a spectrum. As I was led to believe, there are basically two general 'classifications' of people in this version of the post-nuclear United States: Vault Dwellers, whose families were lucky enough to reach a Vault when the bombs fell, and 'wastelanders', or those who were born outside of Vaults. I've been using it as a general term to describe that select group of people; perhaps I'm wrong to do so, and if I am then I apologize for any confusion I may have caused.**

**As for your second question, if you're speaking of the game like I think you are, I suppose the reason the developers had a Courier with some degree of amnesia was simply for the new players of the series, as the new player likely has no knowledge of the NCR (at least not without playing the ancient Fallout 2 game, which I doubt many people here have) or Caesar's Legion, as well as the wasteland itself or anything contained within. Especially if New Vegas was the first game of the series that they played. So I guess that may be their reasoning behind setting it up as such. But that's just my opinion. Anyway, I appreciate the review. Hope you're enjoying the story so far!**

**Me: Upon seeing the state of some of the female protagonists in a few of the stories around here (not to insult anything, but this is true, men do have a habit of portraying females that way), I wanted to stay away from that generalization of women as much as I possibly could. People have noticed that as well, and pretty much every review has been positive on that subject so far. If I may speak as a man, a foul-mouthed, sex-starved, drunken female just isn't attractive to me, and I'm no fan of books or fanfiction that portrays them as such, as I believe there is much more to women than just the physical aspects. Not that I support people who say that women should be completely submissive to their husbands/boyfriends and have no rights like the days of old either, of course. It's a bit complicated, but I'm hoping to appeal to both male and female readers alike with this story, and so far it would appear that I've done that well enough. Anyway, glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope to see more reviews from you in the future.**

**Bloodyredshade: Glad you're liking it. I appreciate the review.**

**neko-hime-cfi: I found the picture on DeviantArt, a site I'm sure you're familiar with. The truth is, I found it by accident while I was searching for Fallout 3 pictures I could possibly use, but I did note the artist's username. It was "sandara" or something very similar to that. And I agree, dual-wielding weapons is a must if they ever make another Fallout game, so long as they keep it somewhat reasonable, of course. No dual-wielding Incinerators and the like. Crazy stuff like that is for the modding community. ;) Also, you'd fit right in on my roleplaying site if you enjoy the innocent being corrupted. There's a girl there who is just like you in that aspect.**

**Psychchick: I appreciate the review, and I hope my above response to 'Me' will suffice for my feelings on the matter. Hope you're enjoying the fic.**

**fallout girl 3: Worry not, Boone will be playing less of a role in the coming chapters. The only reason I actually added him (not a fan of Boone x Courier at all) was because I like him as a character and didn't want poor Alex to be alone constantly. :3 Anyway, I appreciate the review.**

**Anyway, for all my reviewers alike, I want to propose a question to you all. How many of you have heard of, seen, or played the game Bladestorm: The Hundred Years' War? I happened upon it at a game store not too long ago and bought it for around ten dollars or so, but didn't realize that it was made by Koei until I actually brought it home. Upon playing it for a bit, I discovered that the game had many, many flaws, but what particularly caught my eye was two things: One, the fact that a game of this type simply does not do the brutal conflict between my mother country and France justice (And at a few times I couldn't help but feel it made a joke out of it), and two, the undeniable presence of Japanese influence... In a game set in Medieval Europe (Seriously, dumbasses at Koei, the kings and knights of England and France at that time did NOT wear Samurai armor, and neither did Edward the Black Prince or any of his subordinates. Game or not, there is no excuse for such a blatant and annoying disregard of history.).**

**But I digress. That is not the point. As I was contemplating whether to toss the disc into the rubbish bin or sell it to a friend, I got an idea. Though extremely flawed, the story of the game left rather large gaps, and thus was perfect for fanfiction and the like. I plan on starting a fic on it very soon, probably before the next chapter of this is posted. The only reason I'm announcing this here is because the number of both reviewers and fics in the Bladestorm section are very few in number, and I don't really want to waste time on it if nobody is even going to be around to read it.**

**There is also one other game that I am considering doing a fic on, called Age of Empires 3 (Somewhat obscure, older games I suppose. I'm strange like that). While the Bladestorm fic would likely be far more darker, this one might be a comedy fic, more for laughs than anything else. That's about it, I'm just attempting to gauge people's reactions at the moment, to see if they would consider reading it. This fic will not be abandoned in favor of the others, just in case you were wondering about that.**

**Bit of a short chapter this time, ladies and gents, but there's a bit of fluff contained within (at least, if you want to call it that) for your trouble. The next chapter will be much longer and far more action-packed.**

* * *

"How many Fiends do you think we'll come across in there?" Alex asks with a pant. They had only been walking for about ten minutes, but Justin was such a fast walker that she practically had to run to keep up with him, and even then he still stayed about a step ahead of her. Said person merely shrugs, rifle leaned against his shoulder casually.

"Not sure... Probably more than enough to keep us occupied. I've wasted so many out here in the ruins that I've lost count, and still they show up." He replies. Alex feels a shiver run up her spine, suddenly desiring to flee, away from Justin and Boone, away from the Vegas Strip, and away from her life to live out her days as a quiet hermit in a cave somewhere. But, with her luck, the cave she would pick out to hide in would likely contain a Cazador nest, where she would quickly be devoured by the oversized bugs. Or, if the day decided to take a particularly horrible turn, she would happen upon a Deathclaw mating ground or something of the like, and...

Alex shudders loudly, running her right hand up and down the length of her left arm in an attempt to get rid of the goosebumps. Even thinking of those horrible creatures another courier had described to her once was frightening. The image of the lengthy scar on Justin's upper body suddenly came to her mind, unbidden. Perhaps he had encountered one? Now she had to know.

"Hey, Justin?" She asks, a bit uncertainly.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever seen a Deathclaw before?" The Wanderer nods, snorting cigarette smoke out of his nostrils.

"Seen them, fought them, seen men in heavy armor ripped apart by them... Why?" Justin responds, grimacing a bit. Oh yes, he knew fully how deadly the Deathclaws of the Capital Wasteland were... He certainly spent enough time fighting them, if the mission to retrieve the Tesla Coil for the Brotherhood of Steel was any indication. It had taken a total of two days to retrieve it. 48 hours of sneaking in and out of buildings and attempting to fire through their thick hides, then sneaking through what was basically an entire nest of them with only a stealth boy, wading through dirty sewer water and praying to God, Allah, and every other divine power he could think of so as to hopefully avoid getting ripped apart...

"I-I was just wondering. Are they as fearsome as the rumors make them out to be?" Alex asks. Justin shakes his head.

"No." Alex breathes a sigh of relief. "They're worse." Alex immediately tenses up once again. Why did he have to dash her hopes? Now she would have nightmares about the giant lizard things with ridiculously long claws. Boone also seemed to be taking an interest in Justin's experiences with Deathclaws.

"Sounds like a story." He muses. Justin nods, tossing a now spent cigarette into the dirt.

"Hmph. Story, indeed. But you needn't bother. I won't be sticking around long enough for you to learn any of them anyway." He replies. Alex raises an eyebrow. The Courier wasn't about to be shaken from the subject so easily. As poor at other things as she was, she seemed to have a knack for finding things out. One way or another.

"Why the rush? You act like the world's going to end a second time." She asks, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. Alex didn't know what to think of Justin, truly. On the one hand, he was a very deep individual whose secrets she would like to know, but on the other hand, he was also a bit of a jerk, more than a little rude, and was very evasive of basically all forms of questioning. Sometimes, like now, she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him to death, and other times she was just glad he was there.

At least he wasn't an eyesore to look at, Alex thought with a shy smile, her eyes roaming over the Lone Wanderer's body once again. Thankfully he was clothed this time, which made her feel a bit less embarrassed. Many men in the wastes were rather ugly, to her - not to say there wasn't one or two that caught her gaze, but most of the time she was too shy to attempt conversation. Justin himself wasn't a pretty-boy like the rest of the female couriers had gushed about, either. Rather, he was like Boone, ruggedly handsome with a hard, muscular body (Alex had already seen that much) and hardened facial features.

Still, Alex wasn't as shallow as the rest of the couriers. A handsome face wasn't all there was to a man, and she didn't think it so wrong of her to want to wait for a person that she knew would treat her properly instead of bouncing around from man to man and leading a life of heartbreak and empty sex. It just wasn't worth it to her.

"Pray tell, why are you staring at me this time?" Justin asks, sounding somewhat annoyed once more. Alex's eyes widen somewhat. How did he know? He wasn't even looking at her!

"Ah! I-I..." Alex mumbles, feeling her cheeks heat up. Oh well. What would be the harm in telling him the true reason? "I just... Um..." Justin suddenly stops walking, turning about to face her, arms crossed.

"Well? Speak!" Alex flinches at the sound of his voice. The truth of it was, Justin was beginning to get tired of her never speaking her mind. At first it was annoying, then it became slightly amusing, and finally it was beginning to get annoying again, to the point where he just simply wanted to shut up and not say anything, or just leave altogether.

"I just... Has anyone ever... Um... Told you how handsome you are?" Justin stares at her increduously after she finishes her sentence, not moving so much as a muscle. The corner of Alex's mouth twitches a bit, but she still manages to force herself to meet his eyes. Boone actually seemed somewhat amused with the situation, but he made no mention of it. Finally, Justin scoffs loudly, shaking his head and walking ahead of her once again.

"I get it... That was a joke. Hmph. Humor. I remember humor quite well." Alex frowns heavily, speeding up her pace a bit so that she is now walking right beside him. "It's true! Can't you take a compliment?" Justin shrugs. "Not really. All I ever get is criticism for my actions. I could care less about comments that are supposed to make me feel good or hurt my feelings. They don't faze me." Alex glances down at the ground once more. There went her chance, up in smoke. Idiot! You spoke too soon! Now everything's going to be awkward! Alex scolds herself mentally, beginning to chew on one of her fingernails in an attempt to calm herself.

"Oh well. Since we're playing the little compliment game, I suppose I'll humor you and return the favor. You have pretty eyes. I've always liked the color green." Alex stares at him with a blank expression, feeling her face heat up once again. She brings a hand up to her cheek, just beneath her eyes, feeling the warm flesh for a second before allowing her hand to drop to its previous position at her side.

"Y-you really think so...?" Alex asks, looking for confirmation. A compliment likely wasn't going to come from him again any time soon. Hell, even Boone hadn't actually commented on her looks before. "Sure. Anyone would, really. Green and blue eyes are rare, especially out here in the wasteland. Something that I wish was not true; they're quite beautiful." Alex's heart skipped a beat, but she was unable to stop her trademark shy smile from appearing on her face.

At least it was something.

After a few more minutes, however, they finally reached what Alex guessed was the entrance to Vault 3. A couple of Fiends were patrolling outside, acting as guards of sorts. Justin pulls Alex and Boone behind a destroyed piece of building, grabbing his rifle.

"This is the place. Two guards on the outside. No clue how many inside." Justin remarks, loading a few extra bullets into his rifle before giving his equipment a quick once-over. "Plan?" Alex asks, peeking over the ruins of the building. Justin chambers the first round, giving the Courier a pointed look.

"Don't get fucking killed. That's the plan. To hell with that stealth nonsense. Sniper, give me a hand. Hit that Fiend on the right. I'll take the one on the left." Alex watches as the two sneak out from behind the ruins, laying down in the dust on their stomachs with their rifles pointed straight ahead. This was military precision, she thought. Both moved so fluidly, so gracefully... Suddenly she couldn't help but feel self-conscious of her own clumsiness.

Justin takes careful aim down the sights of his rifle, keeping a close eye on his target's movements. He glances back at Boone, who is doing the same. "When I take the shot, you hit yours. Got it?" Boone merely gives a small nod. Justin returns to his line of sight, only to find his target sitting down in a plastic lawn chair of some sort. His finger twitches against the trigger, making sure his aim is perfect before finally squeezing it. The rifle booms loudly, sending a bullet crashing directly through the heart of the Fiend. Boone fires next, his bullet hitting the other Fiend directly between the eyes and killing him instantly.

Justin gets to his feet, motioning for Alex and Boone to follow him. He glances back at Alex, who has her plasma rifle gripped in her hands. "You know how to use that thing?" He asks. Alex shakes her head. "Then you'd better learn fast. It's going to be a long night, lady and gentleman."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note**_

**Okay then! Apparently this story is getting a bit more popular, if the amount of reviews recently is any indication. That being said, I may not be able to respond to every single one from now on. So if I miss you, I apologize, but I doubt people want to see an author's note that's half a page long. Direct questions will still be answered, however. I read each of these reviews every time before starting the next chapter.**

**Vect the Atoner: No, I am not overly familiar with the Koei games (mostly due to their relative obscurity here in the United States); in fact, Bladestorm was the first Koei game I ever actually played. Still, people make such a joke out of western culture nowadays. I guess seeing a bunch of samurai in the game just irritated me a bit (and everyone needs to let loose a good rant every now and then). I believe neko-hime-cfi said it best: The Japanese do have a way of messing up western culture.**

**Thatpersongivingfeedback: I have indeed read New California Dreaming, although I never got around to leaving any reviews. Quite frankly, I found it on TV Tropes (another site I frequent when bored) and decided to give it a shot, and I for one was thoroughly impressed with it. I recommend it for anyone that enjoys a good Fallout fic.**

**Me: Age of Empires 3 is the one I'm using as a base. I actually have the first three chapters or so written for it, but this site has been a little irritating recently. I tried uploading it but got the Story ID Not Found error. I'm sure it's just something wrong with the site at the moment, but oh well, I have no power over that. I will try again soon though. And I've been playing AoM: The Titans expansion recently, and I've been pretty enthusiastic about it. So perhaps I'll even write a fic on that, too? Who knows.**

**NikkaPlz: He's edited for the fic, of course. Nobody likes a Mary Sue, myself included, but in the game he was a real 'demi-god', as you say. For the fic, his three preferred skills would have to be small guns, sneak, and melee weapons, with some decent points in unarmed, explosives, and medicine. So there you go. And yes, he's rich, but not for this fic (I believe I mentioned a while back that he had around 1,500 or so caps, give or take what he's stolen from dead Fiends at this point).**

**Time for the next chapter!**

* * *

Alex ducks her head beneath a pillar, attempting to catch her breath as a hail of bullets slams into the spot she had just previously occupied.

Even now, they were still a short distance away from the Vault, and already they had run into heavy resistance. For some reason, the fiends had picked her out as a particularly vulnerable target and focused their fire on her... At least until Justin and Boone had picked off about five of them. That didn't stop them from lobbing grenades in her direction, though. After narrowly avoiding about three explosions that had almost claimed her life - one of which had knocked down the very pillar she was hiding behind - the Courier was almost ready to call it a day.

Her heart thundered in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of the gunfire, sweat was already beginning to drench her blond hair, and she had sustained several cuts, a few from bullets that were thankfully off the mark, and one on the left side of her face that was particularly deep, taken when one peculiarly malicious fiend had gotten too close with a machete, and had nearly lopped her head off with it.

All in all, they were drastically outnumbered, which made her question just how well this raid was going to go.

Alex peeks her head over the pillar, daring to check on her comrades. She is forced to quickly dodge out of the way when Boone leaps over the downed pillar, kneeling down next to her as more bullets slammed into it. Slowly, her eyes drift over to Justin's position. He was using a dumpster as a form of meager cover, not at all bothering to do anything about the bullets that actually penetrated it. He was practically out in the open, taking shots at anything that moved with deadly precision. Not once did he break the solemn expression on his face, not even when a frag grenade landed nearby and forced him to retreat, also taking cover behind the pillar.

His confidence both impressed Alex greatly and also made her more than aware of her own flaws. She would have to do better... Perhaps he would be willing to teach her a few things, provided they survived?

Another bullet whizzes past Alex's head, causing the Courier to let out a startled yelp and duck beneath the pillar again. Justin checks his weapon with a disapproving frown before snarling out a curse.

"Out of ammo. Sniper, you got any .32 caliburs on you?" He asks, ejecting the spent clip and quickly fixing a jam in the bolt. Boone gives him a blank look.

"Hunting rifles use .308 caliburs... You know that, right?" He replies. Justin gives him a pointed glare.

"Look here, sniper, now isn't the time to tell me what is or isn't acceptable - Shit!" Justin ducks low as another grenade explodes very close to their position, pulling his hat down a bit as rocks and dirt rain down upon their heads. "Just give me some damned ammo, so I don't have to use a machete on these fucks the whole way through." Boone wordlessly hands the Wanderer a few clips of .308 ammo, who quickly reloads and chambers the first round before peering over the pillar.

"All right... I count four. Two behind that dumpster, another behind that husk of a car, and one more on that overhang," Justin points out the fiends in their hiding places, ducking down as more bullets come flying at them. "I think I've got an idea... But we're all going to have to do our own part for it to work. Sniper, you slot the guy on the overhang. Girl, you hit the guy behind the car..." Alex blinks, swallowing hard. Plasma weapons weren't exactly long range, from what she had heard, and the car was a fairly good distance away. Nevertheless, she agreed. Justin reaches for his machete, drawing it forth from his belt.

"I'm going to give the guys behind the dumpster there something to deal with in the meantime. If nothing else, I'll provide a good little distraction to keep them occupied..." He remarks. Alex raises an eyebrow. It was noble of him, she thought, to volunteer to run out directly within range of the fiend's weapons. The more she thought about it, he did seem to be the one most prepared for the task... But the notion was not lost on her. She was right after all; perhaps there was some good hidden beneath the rough, cynical exterior after all.

"Don't get too comfortable, though. If I get injured due to incompetence, these fiends will be the least of your worries..." Or maybe not... Whatever the case, now was not the time to ponder it. Without warning, Justin leaps over the downed pillar, sprinting directly for the rubbish bin the fiends were hiding behind. They instantly picked up on this, of course, and got ready to fire at him. The fiend on the overhang dies quickly as Boone fires a bullet directly through a weak point of his armor, striking his heart and sending him tumbling to the ground below. The one behind the car jumps up at that point. Alex aims down the sights of her rifle a bit awkwardly, firing a single bolt of plasma. The shot goes wide, however, instead striking the vehicle itself.

The old Pre-War car explodes at that point, bathing the entire area in white-hot light as the nuclear power core overloads, causing a miniature nuclear explosion. The fiend behind it instantly disintegrates. Alex drops her rifle, covering her ears with a cringe as the mighty explosion deafens her.

Undeterred by the explosion, Justin continues on, leaping up onto the dumpster before rolling over to the other side and landing on one of the fiends. With a quick slash of the machete, blood immediately begins spewing forth from the fiend's sliced neck. Justin leaves him to bleed out, leaping to his feet as the other fiend raises her hunting rifle. The Wanderer slaps the gun downwards with his free hand just as the fiend pulls the trigger. The gun goes off in the fiend's hand, the bullet striking the ground beneath them and ricocheting into the dumpster. Taking advantage of the momentary disarray, Justin proceeds to gut the fiend in a fashion not unsimilar to what he had done to Cook-Cook, slicing her from the shoulder blade down to the hip. The fiend falls over in a puddle of gore, twitching for a few seconds before laying still.

"Hmph." Justin shakes his head at them, sheathing his machete before proceeding to loot the two corpses for .308 calibur ammunition.

Alex watches as Justin begins picking through the fiend's possessions in his typical, nonchalant way, feeling a bit unnerved. "Do you... Have to loot every corpse we come across?" She asks, watching as Justin pulls some ammunition out of the fiend's belt and inspects it for a second or two, shoving it into his pocket and continuing on with his job.

"Not like it's going to be helping the fiend very much, obviously. Traders pay good caps for ammunition in large amounts, and it's always a good idea to have a small surplus on hand. Too much will slow you down, of course, but other than that, well..." Justin trails off, snatching a syringe of Psycho from the fiend's belt before standing upright and stretching, listening to the small cracks and pops his joints make. It was going to be a long run once they were inside the Vault.

"Um... Justin? Could you reload this thing for me?" Alex asks, holding out her plasma rifle and waiting for him to take it. Justin gives her a blank look, taking the rifle from her. "Watch closely. I'm only showing you once." He tells her, pulling a small part of the bottom of the gun with two fingers. A small section of the gun drops out, holding the spent microfusion cell. Justin tosses the useless ammo away, holding his hand out to Alex, who hands him another cell. Ammunition in hand, he shoves it into the opening and slams it shut, pulling a lever on the side of the gun. The rifle gives a small whirring noise, showing that it is powered up once again.

"Been a while since I've reloaded one of those... A lot of technology goes into these things. Dad would have been fascinated with them." Justin remarks, admiring the still relatively spotless metal before handing the weapon back to Alex.

"Your dad? Was he a scientist?" It was the natural question to ask. Nobody else was overly enthusiastic about Pre-War technology in the wastes, save the Brotherhood of Steel, but they had disappeared, as far as Alex knew. "That particular memory is none of your business. I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask any questions about it." Alex quiets herself for the moment. Nobody wanted to tell her anything, it seemed. Boone certainly didn't seem to want to share anything either, and Justin was practically a lost cause, as far as any average person would be concerned.

"Good shot, by the way." Justin remarks. "Hmm?" Alex asks. He had caught her in thought once again. Justin merely points to the destroyed husk of a car, as well as the bits of fiend laying about behind it. "It's what I would have done. Now, are the two of you ready to kill Motor-Runner? I would like to be done with this already." Boone merely shrugs, while Alex gives a less-than-enthusiastic nod. With Justin in the lead, the three start off down a small ramp, finding the Vault door at the bottom sealed shut. Justin presses a few buttons on the nearby terminal, and the door immediately slides open. Alex raises an eyebrow. If he wasn't from a Vault, then how did he know what to do? Unless he had raided a Vault or two in the past, of course...

As they walk inside, they are accosted by one of the fiends. Strangely enough, however, he does not attack them outright. Alex eyes him warily as he sizes them up, his blood-shot eyes probing every inch of their clothing. Could he perhaps... See reason?

"Hey! Nobody has access to this...wait...are you three with the Great Khans? We're expecting a shipment of good stuff today." Alex beams on the inside. This was her chance! Maybe they wouldn't have to fight their way through after all! Justin, however, opens his mouth to respond in her place. Thinking quickly, the Courier tackles him from the side, causing him to stumble slightly. She stands on the tips of her toes, clamping her right hand down on the Wanderer's mouth.

"Yes! We've got a shipment for Motor-Runner on us! Can we see him? I'm sure he wants it." She asks, giving the fiend her brightest, sweetest smile. The fiend, however, was rather skeptical of her. "You're a little soft for a Great Khan, aren't you? Are you sure you're with 'em?" His blood-shot eyes were surprisingly less...well...insane-looking than those of his compatriots. It was highly possible that he'd buy their story.

"Not really your place to make guesses. Either take our word for it or we'll just leave, drugs in hand. Don't think you want to find out what Motor-Runner might do to you if he finds out you turned us away." Surprisingly, Boone speaks up next. The idea apparently gets to the fiend, as he immediately waves the group inside.

"Y-yes, yes, of course! Go straight in! He's in his usual spot, in the maintenance wing!" And with that, he rushes off to close the Vault door, allowing the three to walk inside, relatively unmolested, save for a few of the fiends going through more serious drug withdrawal, who merely grabbed onto the edges of Justin's overcoat or gripped Alex's boot as they walked past, begging for drugs.

"Quick thinking." Boone remarks, tapping Alex on the shoulder. The Courier grins broadly, feeling very pleased with herself for what she had done. "I thought so too. Murdering everything in your way isn't the best thing to do all the time." She replies. Justin rolls his eyes.

"Don't get too comfortable. We've still got Motor-Runner to deal with. And who knows what the hell we'll have on our hands then." Alex slumps her shoulders in defeat as she trudges along through the Vault's interior behind Justin, listening to her boots thump against the old metal.

Why couldn't he let her enjoy even the smallest of victories?


End file.
